EBONY 


OCTAVUS  ROY  COHEN 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


POLISHED  EBONY 


Hearin'  you  is  the  easiest  thing  they  is." 

Page  288. 


POLISHED  EBONY 


BY 

OCTAVUS  ROY  COHEN 

Author  of  "The  Crimson  Alibi,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

H.  WESTON  TAYLOR 


NEW  YORK 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

1919 


COPYBIGHT,    1919 

BY  OCTAVUS  ROY  COHEN 


ps 


To 
MY  Wire 


CONTENTS 

»AO« 

ALL  THAT  GLITTERS 3 

POOL  AND  GINUWINB 47 

THE  AMATEUR  HERO 93 

TEMPUS  FUGITS 119 

NOT  WISELY  BUT  Too  WELL 145 

BACKFIRE .     .  181 

A  HOUSE  DIVIDED 213 

POPPY  PASSES 243 

PAINLESS  EXTRACTION      ....               .  275 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  Heahin'  you  is  the  easiest  thing  they  is  " 

Frontispiece 

PAOZ 

"  Semore,"  she  murmured  with  downcast 
lids,  "I  —  I  —  is  totumly  misundumstood 
you" 28 

"  Elias'  face  was  pathetic.  He  stood  in  his 
tracks,  back  against  the  door,  eyes  rolling 
wildly  and  showing  white  "  110 

"  He  crossed  the  room  and  hammered  on  the 
board  wall  until  it  shook  "  .  .  214 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS 


POLISHED  EBONY 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS 

URIAS  NESBIT  paused  with  his  hand  on 
the  knob  of  the  front  door.  From  the  rear 
of  his  cottage  there  was  wafted  to  his  ears 
the  rhythmic  swish-swash  of  soapsuddy  lingerie  ca- 
ressing a  rubbing  board. 

Urias  nodded  grimly  and  entered  the  three-room 
mansion.  He  proceeded  to  the  bureau,  opened  the 
top  drawer,  tchk'd  petulantly  and  strode  through 
the  kitchen  into  the  yard. 

Elzevir  heard  the  slam  of  the  door  and  straight- 
ened her  shapely  body.  Her  plump,  rounded  arms 
were  soapy  to  the  elbows.  She  sensed  the  captious 
antagonism  of  her  husband  and  carried  the  war 
into  his  country.  "  Wha's  troublin'  yo'  min'  now, 
'Rias?" 

He  frowned  with  dark  disapproval.  "  Whar  yo' 
di'min'  ring  is  at?  » 

Elzevir  mechanically  raised  her  left  hand  and 
glanced  at  the  ringless  third  finger.  Then  her 
teeth  clicked  together.  "  You  is  some  naggin'  man, 
'Rias.  You  know  puffectly  well  my  ring  is  in  the 
top  bureau  drawer." 

"  Yeh,"  he  retorted  with  biting  sarcasm. 
"  Tha's  jes'  the  trouble.  I  knows  whar  tis  at.  I 
is  tol'  you  a  thousan'  times  a'ready,  Elzevir,  an'  Ise 
tellin'  you  again  —  if 'n  you  leave  that  ring  in  yo' 


4  POLISHED  EBONY 

bureau  drawer  'stead  of  lockin'  it  up  in  yo'  trunk 
when  you  washes,  it's  gwine  be  stold  jes'  sho's  hell's 
a  fishpond." 

"  Huh !  You  is  been  sayin'  that  for  a  yeah. 
Tain't  been  stold  twell  yet." 

"  They's  folks  dyin1  ev'y  day,  Elzevir,  which  aint 
never  died  befo' !  " 

He  turned  away  and  was  safely  within  the  house 
before  a  fitting  retort  came  to  her  lips.  He  made 
his  way  once  more  to  the  bureau  drawer  and  took 
therefrom  a  diamond  ring  of  scintillant  brilliance. 

For  sixty-three  weeks  Urias  Nesbit  had  paid  on 
that  ring.  One  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars 
had  been  expended  for  the  stone  in  instalments  of 
two  dollars  each  Saturday  afternoon.  That  had 
been  in  the  days  when  the  elusive  coyness  of  the 
regal  Elzevir  bade  fair  to  put  Urias  permanently 
into  the  matrimonial  discard.  The  ring  had  won 
her.  And  so  they  were  married. 

That  diamond  ring  was  the  guarantee  of  Elze- 
vir's social  eminence.  At  first  there  had  been 
skeptics  —  numbering  legion  —  who  questioned  the 
genuineness  of  the  stone,  but  they  had  been  ef- 
fectively squelched  by  the  triumphant  Elzevir  who 
invariably  convoyed  them  to  a  jeweller  of  unim- 
peachable integrity  for  an  appraisement.  And  as 
there  wasn't  a  jeweller  in  the  city  who  did  not  in- 
stantly value  the  ring  at  anywhere  from  a  hundred 
and  twenty-five  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  its 
reputation  quickly  spread  and  by  her  diamond 
Elzevir  became  known. 

But  the  diamond  was  the  lone  sign  of  affluence 
about  the  Nesbit  menage.  Somehow  work  and 
Urias  didn't  get  along  very  well  together.  The 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  5 

best  he  had  ever  been  able  to  do  was  seven  dollars 
a  week  —  some  weeks.  The  instinct  of  self-preser- 
vation had  driven  Elzevir  to  take  in  two  family 
washings  per  week  at  one  dollar  and  a  half  each. 
To  her  surprise  she  did  not  lose  caste.  Other  so- 
ciety queens  had  been  dethroned  for  less.  And 
Elzevir  correctly  guessed  that  because  she  was  pos- 
sessed of  a  hundred-and-twenty-five  dollar  diamond 
ring,  the  taking  in  of  a  couple  of  washings  was 
catalogued  among  the  justifiable  eccentricities  of 
the  wealthy. 

She  paid  the  diamond  full  homage.  The  Tif- 
fany setting  was  kept  immaculately  clean.  The 
stone  itself  sparkled  elegantly  from  the  brown 
background  of  her  finger.  It  was  the  supreme  joy 
of  her  existence,  the  fetich  to  save  which  she  had 
more  than  once  cheerfully  faced  hunger.  Once, 
during  a  long,  jobless  period,  Urias  had  insisted 
that  she  pawn  the  gem.  "Di'min's  is  all  right, 
Elzevir,  but  they  is  no  good  if'n  you  is  sta'vin'  to 
death." 

"  This  heah  ring  gwine  stay  whar  it  is  at  —  which 
is  on  my  finger,  'Rias.  If'n  I  die  fum  starvin'  be- 
cause you  is  too  lazy  to  wuk  —  then  I  reckon  it'll 
look  gran'  on  my  corpse." 

But  all  of  her  passionate  love  for  the  ring  could 
not  emancipate  Elzevir  from  her  cardinal  weak- 
ness. She  was  careless.  For  instance,  she  had 
for  months  been  cognizant  of  the  fact  that  one  of 
the  prongs  was  badly  worn  and  that  there  was 
grave  danger  of  some  day  losing  the  stone.  For 
months  she  had  conscientiously  meant  to  see  a 
jeweller  and  have  a  new  prong  installed  —  but  a 
thousand  and  one  things  had  prevented. 


6  POLISHED  EBONY 

Again,  during  the  arduous  hours  of  her  twice- 
weekly  washing  seances  she  invariably  slipped  the 
ring  from  her  finger  and  placed  it  in  the  top  drawer 
of  her  bureau :  a  drawer  the  lock  of  which  had  long 
ceased  to  be  of  any  save  ornamental  value.  Her 
husband  had  scolded  her  about  it  —  chided  her  so 
frequently  and  earnestly  that  his  criticism  had  de- 
generated into  mere  nagging.  According  to  his 
views  the  treasure  should,  on  wash  days,  be  care- 
fully locked  in  her  trunk:  a  trunk  being  to  the 
negro  what  a  steel  deposit  vault  is  to  his  more 
Caucasian  brother. 

And  Elzevir  meant  to  do  it.  She  always  meant 
to  do  the  right  thing.  But  the  bureau  drawer  was 
handy  and  she  was  regularly  a  half-hour  late  in 
starting  .  .  .  and  the  ring  was  inevitably  dropped 
carelessly  into  the  bureau  drawer. 

Urias's  fears  for  its  safety  were  well  grounded. 
The  ring  was  famed  in  coloured  social  circles  and 
he  realized  that  the  neighbours  must  know  that 
when  washing  for  the  white  folks,  Elzevir  was  with- 
out it.  He  knew,  too,  that  while  she  was  washing 
clothes  in  the  back  yard  any  larcenous  individual 
could  enter  the  front  door,  conduct  a  thorough 
search,  find  the  ring  and  extract  it  from  its  hid- 
ing place  and  vamoose  undetected. 

"  Jes'  like'n  to  a  woman,"  he  soliloquized  bitterly. 
"  She  ain't  never  gwine  re'lize  what  that  ring  is 
ontil  it's  stold  fum  her." 

He  left  the  house  in  high  dudgeon  and  traced  his 
steps  downtown.  Near  the  L.  &  N.  crossing  which 
divides  the  north  and  south  sides  of  the  city  he 
almost  collided  with  a  young  overalled  negro  who 
pulled  up  short,  grinned  with  delight  and  clutched 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  7 

his  arm  eagerly.  "  I  is  been  lookin'  for  you  ev'y- 
where,  'Rias." 

"Is  you?" 

"  Sho'  is.    Got  a  few  minutes  to  spare?  " 

"  Spare  time,"  answered  Urias  gloomily,  "  is  the 
on'y  thing  I  ain't  got  anythin'  else  but." 

"You  ain't  wukin'?" 

"  No." 

"  How  come?  " 

"  Me'n  my  boss  ain't  been  gittin'  'long  so  well 
for  some  time  so  I  thought  I  better  quit." 

"  'Rias,"  interrogated  the  other  intensely,  "  how'd 
you  like  to  make  a  hund'ed  dollars  cash  'thout  doin' 
no  wuk? " 

Urias  glared  severely  at  his  companion.  "  Cass 
Driggers,  you  might's  well  on'erstan'  I  ain't  in  no 
jokin'  humour." 

"  Nor  neither  I  ain't.     Ise  plumb  serious." 

"  Huh !  When  you  makes  talk  like  what  you 
is  doin',  you  is  plumb  foolish." 

Cass's  voice  took  on  a  nuance  of  pleading  earn- 
estness. "  Tain't  so,  'Rias.  They's  a  chancst  for 
I  an'  you  to  make  a  hund'ed  dollars  each  —  easy. 
'Thout  doin'  no  wuk  a  tall.  An'  seein'  as  I  an'  you 
is  good  frien's,  Ise  lettin'  you  in  fifty-fifty." 

"  Splain  it,  Cass  —  an'  if'n  you  ain't  want  me  to 
git  pow'ful  mad,  you  loocidate  it  tho'ough  an'  com- 
plete." 

"  Heah's  the  how  of  it,  'Rias.  For  th'ee  months 
sencst  I  been  wukin'  as  a  mechanic  down  to  the 
'Celsior  gyrage  I  is  been  teachin'  a  white  genie- 
man  name  of  Cap'n  Zacharias  Foster  how  to  run 
a  new  flivver  which  he  done  bought.  It  been  jes' 
about  a  hopeless  job  'cause'n  he's  one  of  them  they 


S  POLISHED  EBONY 

men  which  je&>  wa'nt  bohn  to  run  no  autymobile. 
This  mawnin'  I  gits  a  telyphone  call  fum  him.  He 
says  he's  out  on  the  Potterville  road  — him  an 
what's  lef  of  the  flivver.  I  got  the  wreckin'  car 
an'  driv  out.  They  was  jes'  'bout  as  much  lef 
of  his  clothes  as  they  was  of  the  car  — an'  he 
was  most  nekkid.  I  prized  him  up  an'  driv  him 

in. 

"  If'n  yo'd  ever  wukked  'round  a  gyrage,  'Rias, 
yo'd  know  they  is  two  kin's  of  men  whut  owns 
autymobiles.  One  kin'  loves  'em  an'  t'other  kin' 
hates  'em.  They  ain't  no  inbetwix'.  I  is  seen  'em 
all  but  I  ain't  nev'  saw  no  man  so  sick  of  -autymo- 
biles as  whut  Cap'n  Zacharias  Foster  was  this 
mawnin'. 

"  *  I'd  sell  that  oP  junkpile  for  sevumty-five  dol- 
lars,' he  said. 

" '  Huh !  Cap'n,'  I  comes  back.  *  You  is  the  jok- 
ines'  man ! ' 

"  With  that  he  swears  the  mos'  elegant  I  ev'  did 
heah.  'I  mean  it,'  he  growls. 

"  '  Bet'n  you  woul'n't  put  that  in  writin','  I  says. 

"  I  knowed  he  was  a  pow'ful  sot  feller  an'  sho 
nuff  he  pulls  out  a  notebook  an'  writ  out  a  'gree- 
ment  to  sell  me  that  car  for  sevumty-five  dollars 
if'n  I  perduced  the  cash  in  fohty-eight  hours. 
An',"  as  Urias  showed  symptoms  of  interrupting, 
"  that  ain't  noways  the  all  of  it,  neither.  'Rias  — 
I  is  got  that  car  sol'  for  th'ee  hund'ed  dollars  soon's 
I  fix  it  up  a  bit." 

Urias  turned  toward  Cass  Driggers  a  face 
wreathed  in  superlative  contempt.  "What  is  I 
got  to  do  with  all  this?  " 

"You  is  the  feller,"   explained   Cass  blandly, 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  9 

"  what  is  gwine  put  up  the  sevumty-five  dollars !  " 

"  Haw !  "  returned  Urias  with  ponderous  sar- 
casm. "You  is  foolish  as  you  look.  How  come 
you  to  git  the  idee  in  yo'  haid  I  is  got  sevumty-five 
dollars?  " 

"  I  ain't.     But  you  is  gwine  git  it." 

"  I  ain't  nev'  yit  been  in  jail,  an' — " 

"  Lis'en  heah,  'Rias :  they  ain't  no  trouble  'bout 
me  gitten  the  money.  Reckon  Flo'ian  Slappey'd 
lemme  it  if  n  I'd  take  him  in  on  the  deal,  or  I  could 
git  Semore  Mashby  to  do  it  — " 

Urias  clutched  his  short,  dumpy  friend  by  a 
greasy  shoulder.  "  If'n  you  was  ev'  to  give  Semore 
Mashby  the  oppomtunity  to  make  money,  Cass,  I'd 
plumb  ruint  you.  That  oP  jack-face'  monkey  is 
so  tight  'bout'n  money  he  ties  chains  to  his  dimes. 
Semore  Mashby,  Cass,  is  a  discredick  to  the  col- 
oured race  —  an'  sides,  he  is  got  too  much  money 
a'ready." 

Cass  nodded  vehement  agreement.  "  Ise  with 
you  in  all  what  you  says  bout'n  Semore  Mashby, 
'Rias.  I  woul'n't  enter  into  no  business  deal  with 
that  man  on'y  if'n  I  had  to.  But  I  is  savin'  I  c'n 
git  the  money  a'  right.  They's  Flo'ian  Slappey: 
he's  the  on'y  an'  original  take-a-chancst  feller,  an' 
fust  off  I  thought  I'd  go  to  him,  but  I  says  to  my- 
se'f :  *  Cass  Driggers,'  I  says,  '  'Rias  Nesbit  an' 
you  is  been  buddies  sencst  you  was  kids  an'  if'n 
they's  more'n  two  hund'ed  dollars  profit  gwine  be 
divided  up  seems  like  you  owes  him  a  slice  of  it.' 
Tha's  jes'  zac'ly  what  I  says  to  myse'f,  'Rias,  jes' 
like  that  —  which  is  how  come  I  to  decide  I  an'  you 
is  gwine  split  up  them  they  profits." 

Urias  shook  a  perturbed  head.     "  You  is  speakin' 


10  POLISHED  EBONY 

silly.  I  ain't  got  no  sevumty-five  dollars  an'  you 
know  it." 

"  Sho'  I  does.  But  worser  men'n  you  is  made 
money  what  they  ain't  nev'  had  befo'." 

"  I  got  zac'ly  th'ee  dollars,  fo'  bits  an'  a  dime, 
Cass.  I  ain't  hahdly  prospec'  tha's  enough  to  buy 
no  autymobile." 

"Woul'n't  Elzevir  like  bout'n  a  hund'ed  dol- 
lars?" 

"  Her !  If  n  Elzevir  ev'  seen  that  money  all  to 
oncet  I'd  be  a  widdier." 

"  Sho'  nuff.  Tha's  jes'  what  I  says  to  myse'f. 
I  says :  '  Cass  Driggers,'  I  says, l  'Bias  is  yo'  buddy 
an'  Elzevir  is  his  wife,  an'  Elzevir  is  a  broad 
'ooman  — " 

"  Crost  the  hips  mebbe.  But  if  n  you  is  makin' 
talk  'bout  gitten  Elzevir  interes'  in  'vestin'  sev- 
umty-five dollars  .  .  .  anyways,  Cass  —  she  jes' 
ain't  got  it!" 

Cass  lowered  his  voice  discreetly.  "  She  is  got 
it,  too!" 

"Elzevir?" 

"Uh-huh!" 

"  Sevumty-five  dollars?  " 

"  Yeh." 

"  You  is  absotively  an'  entirely  crazy,  Cass  Drig- 
gers. If  n  autymobiles  was  sellin'  for  ten  dollars 
apiece  each  me'n  Elzevir  between  us  coul'n't  buy 
a  puncture.  Whar  you  git  that  notion  'bout  Elze- 
vir havin'  sevumty-five  dollars?  " 

"  Her  di'min'  ring ! "  sibilated  Cass  eagerly. 
"  OF  Semore  Mashby  is  a  lookin'  man  when  it  comes 
to  good  s'curity  an'  he'd  easy  leave  us  have  sevumty- 
five  on  that  ring,  an' — " 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  11 

"  They's  a  train  leavin'  fum  heah  in  twen'y  min- 
utes, Cass/'  remarked  his  tall  friend  with  heavy 
irony.  "  Bes'  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  take  that 
train,  git  off  at  Tuscaloosa  an'  enter  right  into  the 
'sane  asylim.  If  n  they  balks  'bout  lettin'  you  in, 
you  jes'  tell  'em  you  got  the  idee  Elzevir'd  let  that 
ring  git  away  fum  her  —  even  for  a  minute  .  .  . 
tell  'em  that,  Cass,  an'  they  is  gwine  make  you  they 
stah  bo'der." 

"  But  they  is  a  hund'ed  dollars  cl'ar  profit  for 
you,  'Rias.  Ain't  you  hankering  none  a  tall  for  a 
hund'ed  dollars?" 

"  Hund'ed  dollars  ain't  no  good  to  a  daid  man." 

"  You  is  sho'  Elzevir  woul'n't  — " 

"  I  is  sho'  that  if 'n  I  was  to  siggest  it  to  Elzevir 
they  woul'n't  be  nothin'  lef  on  my  shoulders  but 
a  li'l  piece  of  neck." 

Cass  shook  his  head  dolefully  and  tramped  along 
in  sombre  silence.  "I  —  I  kinder  sispected  yo'd 
take  it  thisaway,  'Rias  —  an'  so  I  done  had  another 
idee." 

"  If'n  tain't  no  better'n  that  fust  one  yo'd  better 
leave  it  stay  whar  it  is  at." 

"  It's  a  good  idee,  'Rias  —  an'  it'd  wuk  if 'n  you 
was  a  man  with  any  cou'age  —  jes'  even  a  li'l  bit 
of  cou'age.  .  .  ." 

"  I  ain't  nev'  been  no  coward,  Cass." 

"  Bout'n  some  things  you  is." 

"Name  which?" 

"Elzevir!" 

"  There  you  goes  ag'in  — 

"Lis'en  heah  to  what  I  is  sayin',  'Rias.  Elze- 
vir's got  a  di'min  which  is  wuth  a  hund'ed  an'  fifty 
dollars,  easy.  If'n  we  was  to  try  an'  pawn  that 


12  POLISHED  EBONY 

ring  wt  couFn't  git  more'n  fifty  dollars  or  mebbe 
fohty.  But  Semore  Mashby'd  let  us  have  sevumty- 
five— " 

"Goo'-bye,  Cass.  I  gits  ne'vous  when  I  talks 
with  a  crazy  man." 

"  Wait  a  minute.  Heah  me  th'ough.  Me'n  you 
is  buddies,  'Bias,  an'  if  n  somebody  is  got  to  git  a 
hund'ed  dollars  off'n  me,  I'd  a  heap  ruther  it  was 
you.  Now  I  got  it  all  figgered  out  how  we  c'n  raise 
that  sevumty-five  dollars  an'  ifn  yo'll  lemnie 
splain  — " 

"  Go  ahead,"  commanded  'Bias  with  weary  hope- 
lessness—  in  the  grip  of  a  desire  to  humour  his 
friend's  infirmity,  "  but  be  sho'  you  splain  it  tho'- 
ough." 

Cass  perked  up  with  enthusiasm.  "  Heah's  the 
how  of  it.  A  di'min'  ring  is  a  di'min'  ring,  an'  ifn 
a  'ooman  is  got  one  she  is  salisfied.  Now  my  idee 
is  that  we  is  gwine  borry  Elzevir's  di'min  ring 
on'y  she  ain't  gwine  know  nothin'  about  we  is  done 
so!" 

"  Tha's  a  fine  idee,  Cass.  An'  w'en  we  finishes 
doin'  that  mebbe  we  is  gwine  borry  the  Chinnerses 
baby  off'n  Truman  an'  Orpha  an'  they  ain't  gwine 
know  it,  neither." 

"  Babies  is  diff'ent  f urn  di'min's,  'Bias.  We  is 
gwine  borry  yo'  wife's  di'min'  but  she  ain't  gwine 
know  it  because  we  is  gwine  put  another  di'min' 
back  in  the  place  of  the  one  we  borries ! " 

"  Ifn  you  is  got  a  di'min'  a'ready  what  you  wants 
with  mine?  " 

"  Ain't  got  one  yit.    We  is  got  to  buy  it  fust." 

"With  my  th'ee  dollars?"  sarcastically. 

"  Yeh.    They  on'y  costs  two  dollars  an'  a  halft." 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  13 

"  Beckon  you  ain't  know  no  more  bout'n  di'min's 
than  what  you  does  'bout  wifes." 

"Les'n  heah  to  what  I  is  sayin',  'Rias.  We  is 
gwine  downtown  an'  buy  a  immytation  di'min'  fum 
off'n  that  feller  on  Secon'  Avenue.  It's  glass  in 
course,  but  they  ain't  nobody  less'n  a  jooler  could 
tell  it,  'cause  it's  set  in  ten  yeah  goF  plate. 

"  Then,"  he  continued  radiantly,  "  we  is  gwine 
to  yo'  house  tomorry  while  Elzevir  is  doin'  the  Car- 
ruthers'  washin' —  I  is  hea'd  you  scoP  her  a-plen'y 
bout'n  she  leaves  her  ring  in  the  bureau  drawer 
w'en  she  washes.  We  is  gwine  borry  her  ring  an' 
leave  the  immytation  in  the  place  of  it.  An'  seein' 
as  they  looks  jes'  alike  she  is  gwine  put  it  on  an'  nev' 
be  no  wiser.  Tha's  where  rings  is  diff'ent  fum 
chillun."  Cass  paused  to  inspect  the  face  of  his 
friend  and  noted  with  satisfaction  that  he  had  made 
a  vast  impression.  He  drove  his  advantage  home 
in  sledge-hammer  fashion. 

"  I  is  gwine  take  that  ring  so's  you  won't  be 
mixed  up  in  it  none  a  tall  an'  borry  sevumty-five 
dollars  fum  off  Semore  Mashby  on  it  at  five  dollars 
int'res'.  Then  Ise  gwine  buy  that  flivver  off'n 
Cap'n  Zacharias  Foster  an'  fix  it  up,  the  gyrage 
givin'  me  credick  fo'  the  twen'y  dollars  wuth  of 
materials  I  need.  I  ain't  gwine  cha'ge  you  nothin' 
for  my  labour.  Then  I  gwine  sell  the  car  for  th'ee 
hund'ed  dollars,  pay  Semore  Mashby  the  eighty 
what  we  is  gwine  be  owin'  him,  settle  with  the 
gyrage,  split  the  difT ence  with  you  an'  sneak  Elze- 
vir's ring  back  ag'in.  You  think  it  over,  'Rias,  an' 
see  if'n  I  is  as  crazy  as  what  you  thought  I  was." 

Urias  thought  it  over.  The  scheme  was  flawless. 
u  You  is  sho'  you  can  sell  the  car?  " 


14  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  Sho'  ain't  even  the  word,  'Rias.  I  can  sell  it 
for  th'ee  hund'ed  easy.  They  is  somethin'  'bout  a 
secon'-han'  flivver,  'Bias,  which  gives  white  folks 
the  itch  in  they  money  pockets.  Beckon  they  think 
they  is  gittin'  nothin'  for  less.  I  asts  you  for  the 
las'  time  —  is  you  with  me?  " 

Urias  didn't  have  a  chance.  He  battled  desper- 
ately with  his  conscience  and  his  ingrained  terror 
of  a  militant  spouse.  Arrayed  on  the  other  side 
was  his  passion  for  money  and  plenty  of  it  —  and 
a  hundred  dollars  all  in  one  luscious  lump  was 
more  than  he  had  dreamed  of  in  his  most  avari- 
cious mental  orgies.  And  finally  —  albeit  trem- 
blingly—  he  informed  Cass  Driggers  that  he  was 
with  him.  The  die  was  cast  —  and  if  Urias  felt 
like  unto  the  trembling  surgical  victim  who  fear- 
fully inhales  his  first  paralysing  whiff  of  ether 
while  eyeing  a  glittering  array  of  knives  and 
clamps,  he  did  not  show  it  by  other  than  a  slight 
greenish  pallor  under  his  rich  brown  skin. 

He  voiced  only  one  doubt.  "  You  —  you  ain't 
gittin'  me  into  nothin',  is  you,  Cass?  " 

"Meanin'  which?" 

"  They  ain't  possibly  gwine  be  no  slip  'bout  sellin' 
that  car?  " 

"Huh!  You  is  just  makin'  sounds  with  yo' 
voice,  'Rias.  You  ain't  talkin'  a  tall." 

They  proceeded  to  an  almost- jewelry  store  on 
Second  Avenue  where  for  twenty  minutes  they  pot- 
tered around  purple  velvet  trays.  They  laid  aside 
a  half-dozen  "  as  good  as  the  real  thing  —  only  an 
expert  can  tell  them"  diamonds,  and  from  that 
half  dozen  made  a  choice. 

The  brummagem  brilliance  of  the  ultimate  selec- 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  15 

tion  allayed  to  some  slight  extent  the  doubts  which 
clung,  fungus-like,  in  Urias's  congenitally  guileless 
breast.  He  was  forced  to  admit  that  he  couldn't, 
to  save  his  life,  have  distinguished  the  imitation 
stone  with  its  plated  setting  from  the  genuine  blue- 
white  and  its  fourteen-karat  mounting. 

"Think  Elzevir'll  know  the  diffe'nce?"  de- 
manded Cass  triumphantly  as  they  left  the  store. 

"  Not  less'n  she's  a  wizzid,"  answered  the  con- 
siderably relieved  Urias. 

Knowing  that  he  was  on  the  eve  of  borrowing  — 
without  her  consent  —  the  gem  which  headlighted 
her  way  along  the  topmost  social  stratum,  Urias 
Nesbit  was  unusually  considerate  of  his  wife's  feel- 
ings that  night.  They  walked  to  town  and  howled 
deliriously  through  four  acts  of  a  moss-eaten  farce 
which  was  playing  a  two-day  visit  to  the  city. 
Their  two  tickets  had  cost  all  of  four  bits  and 
their  seats  were  in  the  front  row  of  the  super- 
gallery  which  does  not  exist  in  the  north  and  which 
is  known  south  of  the  Line  as  Buzzard  Roost  or 
Nigger  Heaven. 

The  following  morning  Urias  hung  doubtfully 
around  the  garage  where  Cass  Driggers  was  em- 
ployed. Cass  was  labouring  skilfully  over  what 
had  once  been  a  proud  and  valiant  flivver.  About 
eleven  in  the  morning  a  distinguished,  hatchet- 
faced  gentleman  swung  into  the  repair  shop  and 
stood  eyeing  the  wreckage  with  a  baleful  stare. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Cass?  " 

Driggers  straightened  and  bobbed  his  head  —  an 
inherited  courtesy  which  he  reserved  for  those  espe- 
cially distinguished  southern  white  folks  in  the 
light  of  whose  approval  he  desired  to  bask. 


16  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  Howdye,  Cap'n  Foster.  How  you  is  f eelin'  this 
mawnin',  suh?" 

"  As  miserable  as  that  mess  looks.  I'm  through 
with  automobiles,  Cass." 

"  You  is  gwine  git  ov'  that  feelin',  Cap'n  Foster. 
They  all  does!" 

"  Not  I.     I  wish  I  could  sell  the  thing  for  junk." 

"  You  is  gwine  sell  it,  Boss-man.  An'  I  is  gwine 
buy  it.  'Member  our  'greement  bout'n  that  sev- 
umty-five  dollars?" 

"  You  don't  mean  you  contemplate  paying  sev- 
enty-five dollars  for  that  bunch  of  tin?  " 

"  Sho'  is,  Boss ;  by  tomorry  afternoon." 

Mr.  Zacharias  Foster  withered  Cass  with  a  glare 
of  supreme  contempt.  "Cass  Driggers,"  he 
snapped.  "  You  haven't  the  sense  of  an  ape !  " 

After  he  had  left  Urias  took  his  place  near  the 
repair  pit  and  gazed  upon  the  ex-automobile. 
"  You  reckon  you  c'n  r'illy  fix  her  up,  Cass?  " 

"Huh!  'Rias,  these  heah  cars  is  like  snakes. 
You  c'n  cut  'em  in  half  but  they  goes  right  on. 
Hones',  it  takes  th'ee  wrecks  to  get  'em  goin'  good." 

Urias  was  sceptical.  During  lunch  he  kept  his 
eyes  away  from  the  brilliant  ring  which  shone 
splendidly  from  the  finger  of  his  consort.  He  was 
gradually  becoming  alive  to  the  fact  that  if  any- 
thing went  wrong  he  was  holding  the  bag.  He 
admired  his  friend's  loyalty  in  wishing  to  donate 
to  him  one  hundred  dollars,  but  he  was  acutely  con- 
scious that  Cass  Driggers  was  risking  nothing. 

When  he  reached  the  garage  at  two  o'clock  he 
was  aflame  with  open  rebellion.  But  his  mistrust 
disappeared  like  magic  at  sight  of  the  reincarnation 
which  confronted  him. 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  IT 

Cass  had  worked  fast  and  expertly.  Bent  fend- 
ers had  been  straightened,  an  axle  treated  likewise, 
a  new  wheel  provided,  one  casing  vulcanized,  new 
lenses  placed  in  the  headlights  (Cass  confided  long 
afterwards  that  he  had  used  window-glass),  the  car 
had  been  washed  and  polished  and  the  top  put  up 
and  dusted.  "  One  graham  cracker  an'  a  glass  of 
milk  in  'er  radiator  an'  she'll  be  better'n  new," 
exulted  Cass. 

Urias  was  converted.  In  the  face  of  his  friend's 
mechanical  legerdemain  he  hadn't  the  heart  to 
withdraw.  The  glittery  beauty  of  the  car  im- 
pressed him  vastly.  "  Ought  to  git  fo'  hund'ed  for 
that,"  he  muttered. 

By  three  o'clock  the  conspirators  reached  the 
neighbourhood  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Urias  Nesbit 
graced  with  their  presence.  Urias  reconnoitred 
meticulously,  ascertained  positively  that  his  wife 
was  engaged  in  divorcing  certain  pieces  of  Car- 
ruthers  linen  from  more  or  less  dirt,  and  pussy- 
footed nervously  through  the  front  door. 

He  opened  the  bureau  drawer.  The  real  dia- 
mond sparkled  a  welcome.  He  acted  swiftly  — 
speed  being  a  virtue.  The  fake  diamond  was  sub- 
stituted and  Urias  retreated  precipitately.  From 
the  corner  he  paused  to  observe  the  swaying  form 
of  his  wife  who  laboured  earnestly  over  the  wash- 
tub. 

Cass  relieved  his  friend  of  the  ring  and  de- 
parted joyfully  townward.  "  Gwine  see  OF  Semore 
Mashby  an'  raise  that  sevumty-five  dollars,"  he 
proclaimed.  "  Yo'd  better  not  come  with  me  if'n 
you  ain't  want  Semore  to  sispec'  whar  I  got  this 
heah  ring  at." 


18  POLISHED  EBONY 

Urias  parted  from  his  friend  and  his  ring  re- 
luctantly. He  gloomed  down  the  street  to  Bud 
Peaglar's  Barbecue  Lunch  Room  &  Billiard  Parlour 
and  was  soon  immersed  in  a  free-for-all  game  of 
Kelly  Pool  at  two  bits  per  player.  He  won  two  of 
the  first  three  games  and  temporarily  forgot  to 
worry  about  the  diamond. 

But  at  the  very  instant  that  Urias  pocketed  — 
with  much  gusto  —  his  own  eight  ball,  collecting 
therefor  a  net  profit  of  one  dollar  and  forty  cents, 
things  were  happening  at  his  home. 

Elzevir  had  finished  her  washing.  She  entered 
the  house,  changed  her  waist  and  applied  a  guar- 
anteed-to-make-kinky-hair-straight  tonic  to  her  ra- 
ven tresses.  Then  she  opened  her  bureau  drawer 
and  reverently  picked  up  the  ring  which  glittered 
adorably  in  its  nest.  Idly  she  slipped  it  on  her 
finger. 

It  got  as  far  as  the  bony  knuckle ! 

And  there  it  balked ! 

A  slight  frown  corrugated  her  chocolate  fore- 
head. She  pushed  the  ring.  It  cut  into  the  flesh 
but  obstinately  refused  to  proceed  beyond  the 
knuckle.  A  tremor  of  apprehension  shook  her 
shapely  form. 

Urias  Nesbit  and  Cass  Driggers  had  slipped. 
They  had  expended  a  vast  amount  of  mental  effort 
in  selecting  a  ring  which  was  the  apparent  dupli- 
cate of  the  one  which  they  borrowed.  But  to  them 
a  ring  was  a  ring.  They  had  totally  forgotten  that 
rings  have  sizes  and  that  the  one  they  had  substi- 
tuted was  about  three  sizes  too  small  for  Elzevir's 
finger ! 

The  knuckle  refused  passage  to  the  ring.     Tiny 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  19 

beads  of  perspiration  appeared  on  Elzevir's  brow. 
She  inspected  the  ring  closely  and  her  most  awful 
fears  were  confirmed.  Her  ring  boasted  a  sadly 
worn  and  defective  prong.  The  prongs  of  this 
usurper  were  new  and  flawless.  Elzevir  dropped 
limply  into  a  wicker  chair. 

"  Oh !  my  Gawd !  "  she  groaned.  "  My  di'inin'  is 
done  been  stold!  Ol'  'Rias  is  gwine  give  me  the 
devil  an'  some,  sho'  nuff ! " 

It  was  all  very  plain  to  her.  In  some  way  news 
of  her  carelessness  with  the  family  Koh-I-Noor  had 
become  bruited  about.  Perhaps  Urias  himself  had 
told  of  it.  A  covetous,  unscrupulous  gentleman 
had  thereupon  stolen  it,  substituting  an  imitation 
in  order  to  postpone  discovery  as  long  as  possible. 

The  gloom  of  the  ages  descended  in  one  great 
gob  on  the  shoulders  of  Elzevir  Nesbit.  She  bowed 
supinely  under  the  burden  of  woe  which  had  been 
heaved  at  her.  That  Urias  was  the  culprit  she 
never  dreamed.  He,  like  Caesar's  wife,  was  miles 
above  suspicion.  Besides,  she  knew  that  he  didn't 
have  the  nerve. 

As  the  horror  of  the  situation  banged  itself  with 
trip-hammer  blows  into  her  consciousness  she  saw 
one  fact  staring  her  in  the  face.  Urias  must  not 
know  of  the  loss !  He  must,  at  all  hazards,  be  kept 
in  ignorance.  For  the  first  time  in  her  married 
life  Elzevir  knew  fear  of  her  husband. 

She  thought  it  over  from  every  conceivable  an- 
gle. She  reinspected  the  ring.  It  was  a  beautiful 
ring:  even  she  in  her  misery  gave  credit  for  that 
much.  She  knew  that  if  it  could  be  made  to  fit  her 
finger,  Urias  would  never  suspect  the  substitution. 
She  was  a  woman  of  action.  Twenty  minutes 


20  POLISHED  EBONY 

later  she  entered  a  second-class  downtown  jewelry 
store.  She  laid  the  ring  on  the  counter :  "  Wha's 
that  wuth,  white  folks?  " 

The  expert  flipped  it  contemptuously.  "  Dollar 
and  a  half  —  probably." 

"  How  much'll  it  cost  me  to  delarge  it  to  fit  my 
finger  —  right  now?  " 

He  named  his  price  and  she  nodded  grimly. 
Forty  minutes  later  she  left  the  store  with  the  cut 
glass  glowing  in  noble  camouflage  from  her  finger. 
She  felt  slightly  better.  But  even  yet  the  future 
was  drab  with  the  sadness  of  irrecoverable  loss, 
although  Elzevir  was  concerned  principally  with 
the  present  and  its  chances  of  detection.  For  the 
moment  she  seemed  safe. 

If  only  Urias  hadn't  been  so  passionately  per- 
sistent with  his  warnings.  If  only  his  fervid  dia- 
tribes on  the  subject  of  her  carelessness  had  been 
less  frequent.  In  that  event  she  might  have  dared 
the  truth.  But  now  she  knew  that  at  any  cost  he 
must  be  kept  in  ignorance. 

She  was  safe  socially.  So  often  had  her  ring 
been  professionally  appraised  in  the  presence  of 
sceptical  witnesses  that  there  remained  no  con- 
scientious doubters  in  darktown.  And  so  she  de- 
termined upon  a  career  of  deception,  hoping  that 
it  might  exist  until  it  became  a  habit.  Should 
Urias  learn  of  her  loss,  her  tenure  as  head  of  the 
family  would  be  at  an  end.  Elzevir  set  her  lips, 
stifled  her  grief  and  went  home  to  prepare  dinner. 

Meanwhile  Cass  D riggers  was  progressing  very 
well  indeed  with  Semore  Mashby. 

Semore  doubted  the  genuineness  of  Cass's  prof- 
fered security.  Cass  conducted  him  triumphantly 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  21 

to  the  best  jewelry  store  in  town  and  had  the  most 
expert  expert  in  that  store  appraise  the  stone. 
"  Hundred  and  fifty  dollars,"  was  the  instantaneous 
verdict.  Semore  was  convinced.  He  produced  the 
seventy-five  dollars  from  a  capacious  wallet,  wrote 
a  receipt  and  an  I.  O.  U.  for  eighty  dollars  —  pay- 
able in  thirty  days  —  and  pocketed  the  ring. 

Both  men  were  content.  Semore  was  happy  be- 
cause there  was  more  than  an  even  chance  that 
Cass  would  not  redeem  the  ring  and  also  because 
even  if  he  did  Semore  would  have  profited  at  the 
rate  of  eighty  per  cent  per  annum,  which  is  slightly 
more  than  is  allowed  under  the  Alabama  usury 
laws. 

Cass  was  happy  because  with  Semore's  loan  he 
stood  to  clear  two  hundred  dollars  for  himself 
and  his  pal  .  .  .  and  he  chortled  with  glee  as  he 
contemplated  the  day  of  the  money's  return,  at 
which  time  he  would  tell  Semore  of  the  wealth  be- 
gotten with  his  money. 

Semore  Mashby  was  about  as  popular  with  his 
coloured  brethren  as  a  policeman  with  a  gang  of 
crap-shooters.  He  was  tall  and  angular  and 
shifty-eyed  —  and  had  developed  canniness  to  a 
high  art.  He  loved  to  make  money  almost  as  much 
as  he  hated  to  see  others  do  likewise.  He  was  mis- 
anthropic and  miserly.  Each  dollar  that  dropped 
into  the  pocket  of  his  frayed  coat  clinked  twice  — 
once  for  itself  and  once  for  the  dollar  it  was  des- 
tined to  earn. 

But  as  heartily  as  Semore  was  disliked,  just  so 
heartily  was  he  feared.  His  wealth  —  by  dark- 
town  standards  —  put  that  of  Croesus  into  the  also- 
ran  class.  He  was  the  last  refuge  of  desperate 


22  POLISHED  EBONY 

darkies  who  needed  money  on  any  terms  and  didn't 
have  collateral  satisfactory  to  licensed  pawnbrok- 
ers. Semore  handled  any  collateral  cheerfully, 
willingly  lending  on  such  stuff  as  came  his  way  as 
much  as  fifteen  per  cent  of  the  forced-sale  value. 
Of  course  a  diamond  was  different.  That  was  high 
finance. 

And  so  darktown  hated  Semore  Mashby:  hated 
him  passionately  and  single-mindedly.  If  there 
was  any  unanimity  of  feeling  among  the  negroes 
of  the  community  it  was  in  the  desire  to  sting  Se- 
more for  even  a  modest  portion  of  his  bankroll. 
"  If'n  I  could  once  do  Semore  Mashby  out'n  a  dol- 
lar," Urias  had  often  articulated,  "I'd  be  buried 
smilin'." 

For  the  man  who  succeeded  in  parting  Semore 
from  any  of  his  coin  there  was  waiting  a  universal 
acclaim.  Several  had  tried  it  —  with  results  dis- 
astrous to  themselves.  But  it  was  understood  that 
there  was  open  season  on  Semore's  bankroll  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  days  in  the  year. 

So  much  the  public  knew  of  Semore  Mashby: 
so  much  and  no  more.  He  was  looked  upon  as  a 
dried  fig  of  humanity,  a  bloodless  entity  from  which 
all  semblance  of  softness  had  been  squashed. 
Above  all,  he  bore  reputation  as  a  misogynist.  And 
of  all  things  in  the  catalog,  Semore  Mashby  was  not 
that. 

Vistar  Goins  was  her  name,  a  delectable  creamy- 
brown  creature  of  luscious  curves  and  full  red 
lips;  a  vivacious,  pert-tongued  little  thing  whose 
elan  set  Semore's  heart  to  thumping  madly  beneath 
his  threadbare  shirt. 

Vistar  was  a  woman  of  keen  perception  and  nice 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  23 

discretion.  She  was  dazzled  by  Semore's  wealth 
but  wary  of  his  tight-fistedness.  She  realized  that 
a  wealthy  husband  is  an  asset  only  when  his  wealth 
circulates  out  as  well  as  in. 

Vistar  had  a  sneaking  desire  to  marry  Semore. 
More  than  once  she  had  been  tempted  to  take  a 
chance :  not  because  he  had  awakened  in  her  maid- 
enly breast  any  grand  passion  but  because  he  had 
the  wherewithal  to  insure  her  physical  comfort  to 
the  end  of  her  days  —  provided  he  would.  But 
she  was  afraid  that  after  the  rose-and-rapture  pe- 
riod of  the  honeymoon  she  would  find  herself  still 
engaged  as  maid-of-all-work  at  some  fashionable 
South  Highlands  home  with  part  of  her  weekly 
earnings  swelling  the  considerable  Mashby  fortune. 

"  If'n  I  ev'  seen  that  man  spen'  a  dollar  where 
they  wa'n't  th'ee  dollars  comin'  back  to  him,  I'd 
marry  him  quick,"  she  had  informed  her  best  friend 
more  than  once,  "  but  I  is  skeered  to  take  chaucsts. 
Semore  ain't  even  a  member  of  the  Over  The  River 
Buryin'  Sassiety — 'cause  even  if  it  on'y  costs  ten 
cents  a  week  he'd  have  to  be  daid  to  c'lect  an'  that 
ain't  his  way  of  doin'  business." 

However,  the  delicious  Vistar  was  too  adroit  to 
let  Semore  go  entirely.  For  a  year  she  had  kept 
him  dangling  disgruntedly.  For  a  year  his  pas- 
sion for  her  had  mounted  in  inverse  ratio  to  her 
unattainability.  His  shiny,  russet -black  suit  — 
flapping  about  the  skinny,  angular  frame  like  the 
clipped  wings  of  a  bald-headed  buzzard  trying  to 
take  flight,  served  as  a  warning.  If  he  wouldn't 
buy  himself  a  new  suit  it  was  self-evident  that  he 
would  be  chary  of  expending  real  money  for  wifely 
raiment.  And  fine  clothes  were  as  necessary  to 


24  POLISHED  EBONY 

Vistar's  happiness  and  well-being  as  colours  are 
necessary  to  the  rainbow. 

He  called  upon  her  the  night  of  his  little  business 
transaction  with  Cass  Driggers.  He  was  at  peace 
with  the  world.  Only  that  day  he  had  summarily 
foreclosed  a  chattel  mortgage  on  some  cotton  which 
had  been  grown  by  an  old-fashioned,  painfully  un- 
businesslike darkey  living  a  few  miles  from  the  city. 
He  had  promptly  sold  the  two  bales  at  a  net  profit 
on  the  deal  of  more  than  seventy  dollars.  He  gazed 
upon  Vistar  with  a  warm  and  appreciative  eye. 
His  protestations  of  love  were  even  more  fervid 
than  usual  but  there  was  a  new  note  in  his  declara- 
tion of  eternal  and  liberal  affection. 

Vistar  Goins  sensed  that  the  answer  she  returned 
this  night  must  be  final. 

"I  —  I  reckon  you  wa'n't  hahdly  bolm  to  be  a 
husband,  Semore." 

"Huh?  Wha's  the  matter  with  me?  Ain't  I 
the  richest  nigger  in  this  heah  town?  " 

"  Sho'  is  —  I  reckon.  But  they  ain't  nobody  c'n 
prove  it  'ceptin'  the  cashier  at  the  bank." 

"  Tha's  what  makes  good  credick,  Hon." 

"  Credick  don'  nev'  git  nobody  nothin'  if  n  'tain't 
nev'  took  adwantage  of.  You  know,  Semore,  I  is 
a  pow'ful  free  spender." 

"  Tha's  because  you  is  single,"  returned  Semore 
tolerantly.  "A  married  'ooman  ain't  got  no  use 
for  fancy  clothes." 

"An'  I  reckon  yo'd  spec'  yo'  wife  to  wuk, 
woul'n't  you?" 

"  Wuk,"  proclaimed  Semore  sententiously,  "  ain't 
never  hu't  no  one.  If  n  you  wan'ed  to  wuk  I  reckon 
I'd  be  broad-minded  enough  not  to  stop  you." 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  25 

"But  s'pose  Idi'n't?" 

Semore  smiled  enigmatically.  "Well,  if'n  that 
was  the  case — "  Something  in  his  smile  decided 
her.  It  was  at  one  time  a  concession  and  an  iron 
warning.  It  seemed  to  threaten :  "  Once  you  is 
married  to  me  you  is  gwine  want  to  wuk ! "  Re- 
luctantly—  knowing  that  it  was  her  last  chance  — 
Vistar  took  the  plunge.  She  shook  her  head  — 

"  Reckon  I  cain't  do  it,  Semore/' 

It  was  the  first  time  her  refusal  had  been  un- 
qualified by  some  ray  of  hope.  Semore  bent  skin- 
nily  forth  in  his  red  plush  chair,  gripping  the  bat- 
tered arms  with  talon-like  fingers.  "  You  —  you 
mean  —  you  ain't  nev'  gwine  marry  with  me?" 

She  sighed.  "  Reckon  not,  Semore.  Me'n  you 
wa'n't  meant  for  each  other/' 

A  good  deal  of  the  calculating  harshness  disap- 
peared. He  was  stunned  by  her  refusal.  It  had 
never  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  not  eventually 
be  accepted.  He  had  fancied  that  the  lure  of  his 
wealth  was  too  much  for  any  dusky  damsel  to  re- 
sist. "  Ise  rich,"  he  faltered. 

"Guess  so.  But  me  —  I  is  always  said  I  was 
gwine  marry  for  love.  .  .  .  Yo'd  better  go,  Semore, 
'cause  this  heah  intumview  is  painful  for  the  both 
of  us/' 

He  rose.     "  I  is  comin1  back  - 

"  'Tain't  no  use.     I  ain't  nev'  gwine  marry  you." 

"  But,  Honey.  .  .  ." 

"Goo'-bye,  Semore.  You  is  gwine  fin'  another 
gal  soon  what  you  will  like  her  better'n  me.  Guess 
I  ain't  wo'thy  of  you,  nohow." 

He  turned  toward  the  door  in  a  daze.  He  knew 
that  her  answer  was  final  and  he  simulated  a  trag- 


26  POLISHED  EBONY 

edy  which  he  did  not  feel  —  however  great  a  blow 
his  pride  had  received.  At  that,  he  had  really 
wanted  to  marry  Vistar.  She  was  a  woman  to  do 
any  man  proud.  She  would  be  as  great  satisfac- 
tion as  a  first  mortgage  on  city  real  estate.  And 
she  was  turning  him  down. 

He  stood  uncertainly  before  her,  swaying  like  a 
great  blackbird  on  the  rundown  heels  of  his  enor- 
mous shoes.  His  ancient  Prince  Albert  coat  was 
pushed  back,  his  fingers  shoved  into  the  pockets  of 
his  much-mended  grey  vest.  His  expression  showed 
equal  portions  of  lugubriosity  and  surprise.  He 
had  not  expected  this.  "  Nev'  can  tell  bout'n 
wimmin.  .  .  ."  His  fingers  brushed  against  some- 
thing hard.  He  frowned  —  then  remembered  the 
ring  he  had  that  day  received  as  security  from  Cass 
Driggers. 

He  drew  it  forth  and  inspected  it  glumly.  The 
light  from  the  electric  bulb  struck  it  full  and  re- 
flected dazzlingly  into  the-  popping  eyes  of  Vistar 
Coins.  Realizing  that  he  was  making  his  final 
exit  from  the  list  of  Vistar's  matrimonial  possi- 
bilities Semore  instinctively  gave  play  to  the  the- 
atric instinct  of  his  race.  He  turned  the  diamond 
over  and  over,  muttering  miserably;  scarcely  con- 
scious that  Vistar's  eyes  were  focussed  covetously 
upon  the  stone's  scintillant  perfection. 

"  Reckon  I  ain't  gwine  have  no  use  for  this  ring 
now,"  mourned  Semore  sadly.  "  Might's  well  th'ow 
it  away.'' 

"  Wh-what's  that?  "  faltered  Vistar. 

"  Nothin'.  Nothin'  on'y  jes'  a  hund'ed  an'  fifty 
dollar  di'min'  'gagement  ring." 

"  Whar  you  git  it  at?  " 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  27 

"  Bought  it.     Ain't  got  no  use  for  it  now." 

A  tremor  of  misgiving  smote  Vistar  amidships. 
Was  it  possible,  she  cogitated  wildly,  that  she  —  in 
common  with  the  general  coloured  population  — 
had  mistaken  the  consistency  of  Semore's  heart? 
"  What  you  buy  it  for?  " 

"  Huh !  What  you  reckon  .a  man  usuamly  buys 
a  di'min'  ring  for  w'en  he's  plumb  crazy  bout'n  a 
gal  an'  is  gwine  ast  her  to  be  his  wife?  " 

Vistar  shook  her  head.  She  couldn't  quite  grasp 
the  idea  that  Semore  was  capable  of  an  affection 
strong  enough  to  unloose  his  purse  strings  to  the 
tune  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  "  Is  that  a 
ginuwiue  di'min'?  " 

"  Reckon  they  ain't  nothin'  countumfeit  bout'n 
Semore  Mashby." 

"An' — an'  you  bought  it  for  me?" 

"  Co'se." 

Vistar's  doubts  were  dispelled.  Her  heart  flip- 
pity-flopped  toward  Semore.  A  surge  of  genuine 
affection  accompanied  realization  of  the  fact  that 
she  had  done  the  man  an  injustice.  And  if  her 
sudden  accession  of  ardour  was  influenced  largely 
by  the  blue-white  sparks  which  glinted  from  the 
diamond  she  was  at  least  honestly  unconscious  of 
the  fact.  "  O-o-oh  !  Semore!"  she  quavered. 

He  stiffened.  Here  was  a  nuance  which  he  had 
never  before  heard  from  her  luscious  red  lips. 
"Wh-wh-what?" 

"  Semore,"  she  murmured  with  downcast  lids, 
"I  —  I  —  is  totumly  misundumstood  you.  .  .  ." 

"  Vistar !  You  —  you  ain't  mean  that  .  .  . 
that  .  .  ." 

She  shook  her  head  violently  and  sidled  closer 


28  POLISHED  EBONY 

to  his  skinny  frame  in  maidenly  token  of  surren- 
der. Her  left  hand  strayed  upward  and  rested 
maddeningly  on  his  frayed  vest.  "  Oh !  Honey " 

Better  men  than  Seiuore  Mashby  have  made 
greater  tactical  blunders  in  the  embrace  of  soft 
round  arms.  He  could  no  more  have  resisted  the 
lure  of  the  parted,  upturned  lips  than  he  could 
have  neglected  to  collect  interest  due  him.  He 
crushed  her  to  him  and  quivered  with  the  delicious 
novelty  of  a  soul  kiss  such  as  had  inflamed  only  a 
few  of  his  wildest  dreams. 

When,  two  minutes  later,  they  seated  themselves 
on  the  sofa  and  entwined  themselves  again  in  each 
other's  arms  —  the  fourth  finger  of  Vistar  Goins' 
left  hand  flamed  with  the  glory  of  Elzevir  Nesbit's 
diamond ! 

Elzevir  frowned  as  she  massaged,  with  a  hot  iron, 
various  rough-dried  garments  of  the  white  folks. 

She  had  plumbed  the  nethermost  depths  of  misery 
—  and  she  was  scared :  scared  completely  and  thor- 
oughly. During  dinner  the  previous  night  she  had 
intercepted  countless  glances  directed  by  Urias 
toward  her  imitation  ring.  Conditions  had  been 
worse  at  the  matutinal  feast.  It  could  mean  but 
one  thing :  —  Urias  suspected  the  true  state  of  af- 
fairs but  was  not  sufficiently  convinced  to  voice  his 
suspicions. 

Once  before  he  had  pursued  such  a  course  and 
been  forced  to  retreat  precipitately  from  the  house 
pursued  by  a  verbal  barrage  of  terrible  intensity. 
Elzevir  knew  that  Urias  was  merely  awaiting  sub- 
stantiation of  his  suspicions  before  loosing  his  in- 
itial tirade.  The  future  seemed  dark  with  impene- 


Semore,"  she  murmured  with  downcast  lids,    "I — 1- 
is  totumly  misundumstood  you." 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  29 

trable  blackness,  the  clammy  gloom  about  the  Nes- 
bit  house  was  thick  enough  to  be  sliced  with  a  knife. 

There  came  a  light  knock  at  the  door  and  Elzevir 
called  a  "  Come  in "  without  turning  her  head. 
The  door  swung  back  and  she  heard  a  cheery,  musi- 
cal voice :  "  Mawnin1,  Mis'  Nesbit." 

Elzevir  dropped  the  iron  and  squared  her  shoul- 
ders. She  and  Vistar  had  long  and  frankly  con- 
fessed to  a  mutual  antipathy  and  she  knew  that  the 
visit  boded  some  unpleasantness.  "  Mawnin',  Miss 
Goins." 

"  Jes'  dropped  in  for  a  minute.  Le's  sit  on  the 
po'ch." 

Elzevir  dropped  into  a  wicker  chair  opposite  her 
visitor.  "  Fine  day,  ain't  it,  Miss  Goins?  " 

"  Elegant.  But  I  guess  mos'  ev'ything  looks  fine 
to  me  today,  Mis'  Nesbit." 

"  How  come  that?  " 

With  downcast  eyes  and  modest  mien  Vistar 
wordlessly  extended  her  left  hand.  Elzevir 
gasped :  "  You  is  got  a  di'min'?  " 

"  Uh-huh." 

"How  come  that?" 

"  I  is  engage',"  simpered  the  fair  Vistar. 

"G'wan.    To  which?" 

"  Semore  Mashby." 

"  Semore.  .  .  .  Lis'en  heah,  Vistar  Goins,  is  you 
tellin'  me  the  Gawd's  hones'  truth?  " 

"  Sho'  is,  Mis'  Nesbit.  Ain't  that  ring  prove  it? 
Semore  give  me  that  las'  night." 

Here  was  a  draft  doubly  bitter.  She  knew  that 
Vistar  disliked  her  and  had  always  been  intensely 
jealous  of  the  social  pre-eminence  which  was  hers 
by  reason  of  ownership  of  a  genuine  diamond.  And 


30 


POLISHED  EBONY 


now  Vistar  had  come  to  cut  her  social  props  from 
under,  to  smash  her  cosmic  scheme  in  the  solar 
plexus.  How  thorough  a  job  she  was  performing, 
even  Vistar  did  not  know,  for  she  did  not  dream 
that  the  ring  which  glowed  from  Elzevir's  finger 
was  born  in  a  glass  factory. 

Elzevir  was  lavish  in  her  praise.  "  Lemme  see 
it,  Miss  Goins.  I  sho'  does  congratumlate  you." 

Vistar  slipped  the  ring  from  her  finger  and  passed 
it  over,  exulting  in  her  triumph.  Elzevir  inspected 
it  languidly  —  then  suddenly  her  eyes  narrowed, 
her  lips  compressed  and  every  muscle  in  her  body 
tensed. 

She  recognized  her  own  ring ! 

There  wasn't  a  doubt  of  it.  The  worn  and  bat- 
tered prong,  the  ...  she  spoke  merely  because  she 
was  afraid  that  by  prolonged  silence  she  might  be- 
tray her  emotional  seethe  to  Vistar's  close  and 
exuberant  scrutiny.  "  Sho'  is  a  han'some  ring, 
Miss  Goins." 

"  My  inten'ed  ain't  no  piker,  Mis'  Nesbit." 

Elzevir  did  not  know  how  Semore  Mashby  had 
become  possessed  of  her  ring.  She  didn't  particu- 
larly care.  All  that  she  did  know  was  that  by  some 
kind  act  of  a  merciful  Providence  the  missing  ring 
was  once  again  in  her  possession  and  there  she  in- 
tended to  keep  it.  Her  conscience  was  clear:  the 
ring  had  been  stolen  from  her.  It  had  come  home 
to  roost.  It  was  her  property  —  and  her  property 
she  intended  it  to  remain.  To  her  legal  right  of 
possession  she  intended  to  add  actual  possession. 

"  Elegant  ring,"  she  murmured  absently,  turn- 
ing it  this  way  and  that  in  the  sunlight.  "  Prettier 
than  mine,  I  reckon." 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  31 

"  Tha's  nachel,"  cooed  Vistar.  "  My  fiansay  is 
got  mo'  money  than  what  yo'  husband  is  got.  He 
c'n  fo'd  ril  fine  stones." 

"Tain't  no  larger  —  lemme  see,"  and  Elzevir, 
a-tremble  with  inspiration,  slipped  the  imitation 
diamond  from  her  finger.  She  compared  the 
rings  carefully.  She  shuffled  them  deliberately. 
And  finally  she  slipped  a  ring  back  on  her 
finger. 

But  the  ring  which  she  returned  to  Vistar  Goins 
was  a  gold-plated  affair  set  with  a  piece  of  glass! 
The  Nesbit  crown  jewel  had  been  restored. 

Vistar  was  pitifully  unsuspicious  of  the  substi- 
tution. She  slipped  the  imitation  on  her  finger 
and  sighed  with  satisfaction.  "  I  espec'  I'll  have 
sev'al  more  di'min's  pretty  soon,"  she  commented 
idly.  "  Semore  is  so  foolish  in  how  he  spen's  money 
whar  I  is  consarned  at." 

Elzevir  knew  that  she  was  now  safe  from  detec- 
tion. Should  trouble  arise  she  realized  that  she 
could  easily  prove  ownership  to  the  ring  she  wore. 
And  Vistar  had  rubbed  it  in  just  a  little  bit  too 
strong. 

"  Semore  Mashby  ain't  got  no  reppitation  for 
bein'  zac'ly  what  yo'd  call  a  spen'thrif,"  she  re- 
marked acidly. 

"Whar  I  is  consarned  at — 'tis  diffe'ent,"  came 
the  bland  answer. 

Elzevir's  eyes  narrowed.  "  You  ain't  happen'  to 
show  that  to  no  jooler  yet,  is  you?  " 

"  What  for?  " 

"  Nothin'.  Nothin'  tall.  On'y  some  immytation 
di'min's,  Miss  Goins,  looks  pow'ful  like  the  ril 
thing." 


32  POLISHED  EBONY 

Vistar  rose  indignantly.  "Is  you  meanin'  to 
'sinuate,  Mis'  Nesbit,  that  — " 

"  I  ain't  'sinuatin'  nothin1,  Miss  Goins.  I  is  said 
what  I  is  said.  An'  what  I  is  said  is  that  Mistuh 
Mashby  ain'  nev'  th'ew  no  money  away  yet  an'  if  n 
'twas  me  he  give  that  stone  to  I'd  be  pow'ful  sho' 
'twas  ginuwine  befo'  I  went  boastin'  roun'  wimmin 
what  ev'ybody  knows  wears  the  ril  thing.  Tha's 
all  what  I  is  got  to  say,  Miss  Goins.  Ise  busy  — 
doin'  hones'  wuk.  Good  day!  " 

It  was  ridiculous;  unthinkable;  absurd!  Se- 
more  would  never  dare.  But  the  seeds  of  distrust, 
so  cleverly  planted,  insisted  on  sprouting. 

An  hour  later  she  staggered  from  a  lead- 
ing jewelry  store.  Tears  —  part  of  stricken  pride 
and  part  of  fury  —  trembling  in  her  eyes.  "A 
dollar  and  a  half,"  had  been  the  jeweller's  prompt 
verdict.  "  It  isn't  worth  a  cent  more  than  that." 

She  walked  dizzily  toward  her  home,  groping 
blindly  through  the  wreckage  of  her  air-castles. 
All  the  venom  in  her  nature  had  concentrated 
against  Semore  Mashby;  Semore  the  hopelessly 
tightwad  whose  fervently  protested  love  for  her 
had  proved  not  sufficiently  strong  to  master  the 
plea  of  the  dollar. 

She  was  prostrated,  abased,  made  a  laughing- 
stock in  the  eyes  of  the  society  set.  Nor  was  she 
labouring  under  any  delusions.  Elzevir  Nesbit  de- 
tested her  and  Elzevir  knew  that  the  visit  of  the 
morning  had  been  for  the  express  purpose  of  quaf- 
fing the  nectar  of  superiority.  Elzevir  would  not 
rise  to  heights  of  mercy.  Not  a  chance.  Nor 
would  the  story  lose  colour  in  the  telling.  The 
world  had  become  a  dark,  drab  place  for  the  crushed 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  33 

Vistar.  Her  pride  had  wenteth  before  her  fall 
and  the  fall  was  exceeding  hard. 

Her  first  move  was  strictly  feminine.  She  went 
home  and  cried  it  out.  And  with  her  cry  came 
realization  that,  diamonds  or  no  diamonds,  Semore 
was  not  —  and  could  never  have  become  —  her  man. 
When  she  left  home  it  was  to  walk  swiftly  to  Se- 
more's  office,  a  dingy  room  in  an  ancient  two-story 
red-brick  building  a  half-block  removed  from  the 
best  business  section  of  darktown. 

She  had  been  in  the  office  before  and  never  liked 
it.  Now  its  noisome  dankness  smote  her  and  filled 
her  soul  with  loathing  for  the  place  and  the  man 
who  sat  hunched  like  a  great  skinny  buzzard  in  his 
swivel  chair.  At  sight  of  her  Semore  rose  eagerly 
and  started  forward  with  arms  outstretched.  He 
caught  the  pale  yellow  gleam  of  cold  fury  in  her 
eyes  and  paused.  .  .  . 

Vistar  exploded.  She  ripped  the  offending  ring 
from  her  finger  and  hurled  it  viciously.  It  struck 
a  broken  button  on  his  vest  and  tinkled  to  the  floor. 
Semore's  lantern  jaw  dropped  weakly.  "  Wha- 
wha's  the  matter,  Hon?  " 

"  I  —  I  — "  Vistar  choked.  She  turned  word- 
lessly toward  the  door. 

"Vistar  —  Honey—      Sumthin's  wrong — ? '' 

She  whirled  in  a  fury.  "  You  is  said  sumthnT, 
Semore.  They  is  plen'y  wrong !  " 

He  cautiously  rescued  the  ring  from  a  dust-heap. 
"  S'posin'  you  tell  me.  .  .  ." 

"  If'n  I  was  to  tell  you  what  I  is  thinkin',  Semore 
Mashby,  you  sho'  would  have  me  'rested.  I  is 
thinkin'  things  bout'n  you,  Semore  Mashby,  which 
I  cain't  say  'thout  fo'gettin'  I  is  a  lady.  I  is  on'y 


34  POLISHED  EBONY 

gwine  say  this  much  —  they  is  some  wimmin  you 
en  fool  with  a  fake  di'min',  but  I  ain't  one  of 
them ! " 

"  Fake  di'uim'?  "  Semore  stiffened.  His  parsi- 
monious soul  shrivelled  before  the  possibilities  con- 
tained in  the  accusation.  "  What  you  mean  — 
fake?" 

"  Mebbe  so  I  is  got  a  price,  Semore  Mashby ;  but 
'tain't  no  dollar'n  a  half!  You  go  give  that  they 
di'min'  to  s'mother  gal  what  ain't  got  sense  enough 
to  know  yo'd  fool  her.  Tha's  all  vhat  I  is  got  to 
say  bout'n  it.  Goo'-bye!  you  ol'-  ol' — rooster!" 

The  door  slammed  behind  hei,  raising  a  tiny 
spurt  of  dust.  Semore's  head  wobbled  crazily  on 
his  thin  neck.  He  passed  talon-like  fingers  across 
a  perspiring  forehead.  His  chief  terror,  however, 
was  not  of  his  blasted  love-hopes  but  of  the  cer- 
tainty that  something  was  wrong  with  his  dia- 
mond. 

He  knew  Vistar  Goins:  knew  her  very  well  in- 
deed. And  he  realized  that  she  was  not  of  the  type 
to  theatrically  fling  real  diamonds  around  his  office. 
Therefore,  she  must  know  that  the  stone  was  imita- 
tion. Quod  erat  demonstratum! 

But  how?  Twenty- four  hours  previously  one  of 
the  best  jewellers  in  the  city  had  appraised  the 
stone  as  worth  not  a  cent  less  than  a  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars.  He  broke  the  world's  middle-distance 
records  in  traversing  the  distance  between  his  office 
and  the  jeweller's.  He  shoved  the  ring  across  the 
counter:  "  How  much  that  is  wuth,  Cap'n?  " 

The  white  man  glanced  at  the  bit  of  glass  and 
smiled.  "  About  a  dollar.  Maybe  two." 

"  Two  dollars?  "    There  were  tears  in  Semore's 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  35 

voice.     "  Ain't    they    some    mistake,    Boss-man? " 

"  No.  It  is  a  cleverly-cut  imitation  and  a  fairly 
well  made,  plated  setting.  But  it's  intrinsic  value 
isn't  possibly  more  than  two  dollars." 

Semore  closed  his  eyes  in  horror.  In  the  light 
of  this  certain  financial  catastrophe  the  loss  of  a 
prospective  wife  and  a  happy  home  seemed  as  noth- 
ing. "  B-b-but,"  he  stammered.  "  It  wa'n't  on'y 
yestiddy  you  tol'  me  that  they  ring  was  wuth  a 
hund'ed  an'  fifty  dollars!  " 

The  jeweller  shook  his  head.  "  Not  that  ring. 
That  is  not  the  ring  I  appraised  for  you  yester- 
day." 

"  But  Boss-man,"  wailed  Semore,  "  is  you  sho' 
bout'n  that?  " 

"  Positive.  The  ring  you  showed  me  yesterday 
was  a  very  pretty  genuine  diamond.  This  thing  is 
plain  glass." 

"O-o-o-oh!  Lawdy!" 

"  You  haven't  loaned  any  money  on  that,  have 
you?" 

Semore  glanced  at  the  ring.  He  raised  pain- 
filled  eyes  to  the  face  of  his  vis-a-vis.  "  No,"  he 
groaned,  "  I  ain't  loant  nothin'  on  nothin'.  I 
reckon  I  is  jes'  nachelly  gave  sevumty-five  dollars 
to  cha'ity ! " 

The  stricken  Semore  lurched  into  the  street  and 
groped  blindly  toward  his  musty  office.  There  he 
sank  into  a  creaky  chair  and  lighted  a  cigar  butt 
which  he  spitted  on  a  penpoint  so  that  he  might 
get  the  ultimate  puff  of  rancid  smoke.  He  tried 
to  collect  hie  thoughts. 

He  knew  that  the  jeweller  was  above  reproach. 
Some  fiend  of  evil  had  stolen  his  real  diamond  and 


30  POLISHED  EBONY 

substituted  this  bit  of  glass.  And  yet  — no  one 
had  possessed  the  ring  save  himself.  It  hadn't  been 
out  of  his  pocket  — 

He  leaped  to  his  feet  and  smashed  a  bony  fist 
into  the  palm  of  his  other  hand. 

"Me  an'  Samson,"  he  roared,  resorting  to  the 
Bible  for  a  parallel,  "  we  is  both  been  done  dirt 
by  wimmin!  Vistar  Goins  wukked  me  for  that 
di'min'  an'  then  double-crossed  me !  " 

It  was  all  quite  plain.  Vistar  still  had  the  real 
diamond.  He  slapped  a  battered  felt  hat  on  his 
head  with  the  intention  of  putting  the  case  in  the 
hands  of  Lawyer  Evans  Chew.  Then  he  realized 
that  Chew,  in  common  with  all  the  other  men  of 
parts  in  darktown,  disliked  him  and  would  take 
great  pleasure  in  exploiting  his  discomfiture.  He 
loved  money  passionately,  but  he  knew  that  it  was 
worth  more  than  seventy-five  dollars  to  conceal  the 
story  of  his  undoing.  And  he  was  wise  enough  to 
understand  that  he  would  have  a  very  difficult  time 
in  proving  that  Vistar  had  substituted  the  imita- 
tion for  the  real.  If  he  had  her  arrested  and  she 
should  subsequently  be  acquitted  —  they'd  cer- 
tainly run  him  out  of  town. 

He  removed  his  hat  and  settled  into  the  slough 
of  despond.  He  was  heartsick  and  weary. 
"  Reckon  I  deserves  it,"  he  muttered  bitterly,  "  for 
foolin'  with  wimmin."  Semore  Mashby's  conver- 
sion to  misogyny  was  complete. 

There  came  a  light  tap  on  the  door  and  it  was 
flung  open.  Cass  Driggers  poked  a  grinning  head 
into  the  room.  "Hello,  Ol'  Spoht!"  he  greeted 
cheerily.  "  How  you  makin'  it  this  mawnin'?  " 

Semore  pulled  himself  together  with  a  mighty 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  37 

effort.  He  tried  to  grin  and  met  with  sickly  suc- 
cess. "  Tol'able,  Brother  Driggers ;  soht  of  tor- 
able." 

"  So'm  I,  Brother  Mashby.  Jes'  paused  by  to 
let  you  know  bout'n  that  sevumty-five  dollars 
you  loant  me  yestiddy  —  you  'members  it,  don' 
you?" 

"  Yeh,"  choked  Semore,  "  I  'members  it  tho'- 
ough." 

"  I  done  finish  a  deal  what  tu'n  it  into  th'ee 
hund'ed  dollars,"  exulted  Cass.  "  I  is  comin'  'roun' 
this  evenin'  to  redeem  that  they  ring  back  ag'in." 

Worse  and  more  of  it.  Ossa  piled  on  Pelion. 
This  new  aspect  to  a  phantasmagoria  of  misery 
smote  Semore  where  it  hurt  worst.  He  temporized. 
"  Ain't  no  hurry,  Brother  Driggers :  you  is  got 
thutty  days." 

"  I  is  got  th'ee  hund'ed  dollars,"  chuckled  Cass. 
"An'  t'night  I  pays  you  eighty  an'  gits  the  ring." 

Semore  was  face  to  face  with  the  necessity  for 
immediate  and  decisive  action.  His  brain  was 
sadly  addled  but  not  to  such  an  extent  that  he 
failed  to  realize  the  urgency  of  saving  the  present 
situation  at  any  cost.  He  knew  that  if  he  should 
be  suspected  of  evil-doing,  Cass  Driggers  would 
cheerfully  railroad  him  to  the  chaingang. 

And  he  couldn't  return  the  diamond  to  Cass 
because  he  didn't  have  the  diamond.  He  knew 
that  Cass  had  placed  in  pawn  with  him  a  genu- 
ine diamond  and  that  he  had  nothing  to  return 
save  a  cheap  imitation.  Sooner  or  later  Cass 
would  discover  the  substitution  and  he  —  Semore 
Mashby  —  would  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  city 
jail.  He  didn't  fool  himself.  He  realized  that  he 


38  POLISHED  EBONY 

had  as  much  chance  for  mercy  as  a  Brunswick  stew 
at  a  nigger  barbecue. 

"  Tha's  a  pow'ful  nice  ring,  Cass." 

"  Reckon  so.     Cost  a  hund'ed  an'  fifty  dollars." 

"  'Tain't  wuth  all  of  that." 

"We  ain't  scussin'  what  i's  wuth,  Brother 
Mashby.  I  is  gwine  git  it  back  for  eighty  dollars. 
That  lets  you  out." 

It  did  let  him  out  —  hard.  "  I  is  soht  of  growed 
fon'  of  that  ring,"  murmured  Semore. 

"  I  an'  you  both." 

"  Sposin'  you  sell  it  to  me?  " 

"  That  ring  ain't  for  sale." 

"How  'bout  a  hund'ed  an'  twen'y-five  dollars 
cash:  fifty  more'n  what  I  loant  you  on  it  yes- 
tiddy?" 

"  You  is  the  humourestes'  feller,  Semore.  That 
ring  ain't  for  sale." 

"  Hund'ed  an'  fifty?  " 

"  Nothin'  stirrin'.  If'n  you  want  a  di'min'  ring 
for  yo'  ownse'f,  whyn't  you  go  downtown  an'  buy 
you  one?  " 

For  a  wild  instant  Semore  thought  of  doing  that 
and  attempting  to  substitute  the  new  ring  for  that 
of  Cass  which  had  passed  into  the  avid  clutches  of 
a  heartless  woman.  But  that  would  not  entirely 
negative  the  danger  of  discovery.  Cass  must  never 
know. 

"  Hund'ed  an'  sevumty-five?  All  what  you  is  got 
an'  a  hund'ed  mo'?  " 

"  I  wants  my  own  ring  back,"  snapped  Cass  im- 
patiently. 

Semore  was  on  the  rack.     He  knew  that  be  was 


ALL  THAT  GLITTEKS  39 

up  against  it  good  and  proper.  "  T-t-t-two  hun- 
d'ed?"  he  faltered. 

Flat  rejection  trembled  on  Cass's  lips  but  he 
choked  it  back.  Here  was  a  chance  —  "  You  is 
off'rin'  all  what  we  is  borried  an'  a  hund'ed  an' 
twen'y-five  mo'  for  that  ring,  Semore?" 

"  Uh-huh." 

"  Put  it  in  writin',''  commanded  the  budding 
financier. 

Semore  did  so,  every  scratch  of  the  pen  making 
a  furrow  in  his  heart.  Cass  inspected  the  docu- 
ment and  grinned.  "  Let  you  know  this  evenin', 
Brother  Mashby.  Way  I  figgers  it  out,  I  ain't 
gwine  lose  nothin'  no  way." 

Semore  knew  that  Cass  was  speaking  fact.  It 
seemed  that  for  once  in  his  life  he  was  on  the  short 
end  of  everything.  His  opinion  of  women  in  gen- 
eral and  of  Vistar  in  particular  at  that  moment 
dwarfed  Schopenhauer's  famous  essay  into  a  flaccid 
compliment  by  comparison.  Cass  paused  at  the 
door. 

"  If'n  you  ain't  look  shahp,  Semore,"  he  flung 
over  his  shoulder,  "  you  is  gwine  begin'  spen'  some 
money  pretty  soon  an'  then  you  gwine  die  of  a 
busted  heart." 

Cass  ran  down  the  stairway,  turned  the  corner 
at  top  speed  and  accelerated  all  the  way  to  the 
Nesbit  homestead.  He  laid  the  proposition  glow- 
ingly before  the  astounded  Urias  and  backed  it  up 
by  an  exhibition  of  the  documentary  evidence. 
"  So  you  see,  'Rias,"  he  concluded  triumphantly, 
"  we  is  gwine  take  this  extray  hund'ed  an'  twen'y- 
five  an'  buy  a  new  an'  ginuwine  di'min'  for  Elzevir 


40  POLISHED  EBONY 

an'  the  sevumty-five  what  we  owes  Semore  will  be 
extry  profit  for  us." 

Urias  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "  Cain't  be 
did,  Cass.  Elzevir'd  know  it,  sho'." 

"  Huh !  "  negatived  the  optimistic  Cass.  "  She 
ain't  able  to  tell  her  ril  di'min'  fum  a  fake,  so  how 
she  gwine  know  ifn  we  give  her  a  ril,  hones'-to- 
Gawd  di'min'  which  we  is  gwine  spen'  a  hund'ed  an' 
twen'y-five  dollars  for?  " 

"They  is  some  things,  Cass,  which  is  too 
much.  .  .  ." 

"  A  di'min'  is  a  di'min',  'Rias,  an'  a  woman  is  a 
woman.  Even  Elzevir." 

Cass  won.  Two  hours  later  he  left  the  office  of 
the  prostrated  Semore  Mashby  clutching  in  his 
hand  the  informal  pawn  ticket  for  eighty  dollars 
and  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars  in  cash. 
Semore  had  fought  a  valiant  but  losing  battle  for 
the  five  dollars  interest  money. 

Cass  and  Urias  met  on  the  corner  and  together 
selected  a  glittering  diamond  for  which  they  paid 
one  hundred  and  twenty -five  dollars.  Cass  was  all 
in  favor  of  a  seventy-five  dollar  stone  with  a  pro- 
nounced flaw  but  Urias  had  been  too  terrified  by  the 
experiences  of  the  immediate  past  to  run  further 
risks. 

Luck  was  with  them.  They  reached  the  Nesbit 
manse,  reconnoitred,  and  saw  Elzevir  in  the  back 
yard  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  an  extra 
washing.  Urias  sneaked  into  the  house  and  slid 
open  the  bureau  drawer. 

The  ring  was  not  there !  Then  he  knew  that  his 
wife  had  at  this  fatal  eleventh  hour  heeded  his  nag- 
ging advice.  The  ring  was  locked  in  the  trunk  and 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  41 

his  wife  had  the  key.  The  irony  of  the  thing  struck 
him :  Elzevir  securely  locking  away  an  imitation 
diamond  after  having  for  years  left  a  real  stone 
open  to  any  enterprising  crook ! 

He  lighted  a  cigarette  and  lounged  through  the 
back  door.  He  noticed  that  the  ring  was  not  on 
her  finger.  "  'Lo,  Elzevir." 

"  Howdye." 

"  You  sho'  does  wuk  hahd,  Elzevir." 

"  Lot  you  knows  'bout  wuk !  " 

Urias  speculated  briefly.  "  Is  you  got  the  key 
to  yo'  trunk,  Elzevir?  " 

"  Sho'  is." 

"  Loand  it  to  me  a  minute,  will  you,  Hon?  " 

He  did  not  detect  the  gleam  of  suspicion  which 
leaped  into  Elzevir's  eyes,  nor  did  he  take  warn- 
ing from  the  alacrity  with  which  she  handed  him 
the  desired  key.  He  chatted  with  her  for  a  few 
moments  and  sidled  into  the  house. 

It  required  only  a  few  seconds  to  throw  back  the 
lid  of  the  trunk  and  to  locate  the  ring.  He  lifted 
it  happily  from  the  tray  and  fished  the  new  and 
genuine  diamond  from  his  vest  pocket. 

He  gazed  at  the  two  stones.  They  seemed  twins. 
He  couldn't  tell  which  from  t'other. 

"  What  you  is  doin',  'Rias?  " 

Urias  whirled.  He  experienced  a  sudden  sink- 
ing sensation  at  the  pit  of  his  stomach.  He  gazed 
into  the  level  eyes  of  his  militant  wife.  She  held 
his  gaze  for  awhile,  then  dropped  her  eyes  to  the 
glittering,  glowing  diamonds. 

Discretion  and  circumstance  prompted  a  lie,  but 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  woman  before  him 
warned  that  such  a  course  would  be  troublesome 


42  POLISHED  EBONY 

and  fruitless.  And  so  Urias  Nesbit  for  once  in  his 
life  told  the  whole,  unadorned,  perfect  and  com- 
plete truth. 

He  pleaded  passionately.  He  offered  to  escort 
her  to  every  jeweller  in  town  for  appraisement  of 
the  ring.  And  as  he  talked  Elzevir's  lips  lost  their 
stern  rigidity  and  expanded  into  a  sunny  smile. 
The  sun  was  shining  very  brightly  for  Elzevir. 
And  when  he  finished  she  merely  said :  "  Call  in 
that  wuthless,  no-'count  Cass  Driggers." 

Cass  entered  sheepishly  and  stood  twirling  his 
hat.  Elzevir's  voice  whipped  out  like  the  crack  o' 
doom.  "Is  you  done  soP  that  autymobile  yet, 
Cass?" 

"  Uh-huh.     Yas'm." 

"How  much?" 

"Th'ee  hund'ed  dollars.  I  owes  the  gyrage 
twen'y-five  dollars  for  mate'ial." 

"An'  you  owes  me  sevumty-five  dollars  for  the 
use  of  my  ring." 

"  But  Mis'  Nesbit  — " 

"You  owes  me  sevumty-five  dollars  for  the  use 
of  my  ring,"  she  grated.  "  Lis'en  at  me  an'  per- 
duce ! " 

Cass  looked  at  Urias  and  Urias  stared  miserably 
back  at  Cass.  Cass  did  the  expedient  thing:  he 
handed  the  seventy-five  dollars  to  Elzevir.  "  That 
leaves  you  two  hund'ed,"  continued  Elzevir  merci- 
lessly. "Give  me  the  hund'ed  what  belongs  to 
'Rias." 

"  But,  Honey.  .  .  ." 

"'Rias!  You  keep  yo'  mouth  out  of  this  heah 
settlin'ment.  Han'  it  over,  Cass." 

Cass  obeyed  dumbly. 


ALL  THAT  GLITTERS  43 

"Ise  gwine  keep  this  for  you,  'Rias,"  smiled 
Elzevir.  "  Reckon  you  nev'  will  know  nothin' 
much  bout'n  handlin'  money.  If  n  you  want  five 
dollars  — " 

"  Thanks,  sweetness,"  murmured  Urias  humbly, 
as  he  took  the  crumpled  bill  which  his  wife  gener- 
ously tendered.  Then  an  idea  struck  him.  "  What 
you  is  gwine  do  with  that  fake  ring?  " 

His  wife  smiled  enigmatically  and  gazed  affec- 
tionately at  her  two  genuine  diamonds.  "  I  reckon 
I'll  wear  'em  both." 

"  But  if'n  any  one  should  ast.  .  .  ." 

"  Tell  'em  they  is  both  ril  di'min's." 

"  They  might  want  a  jooler  to  look  at  'em." 

"  Reckon  I  c'n  stan'  that,  'Rias.  Anyways,  you 
lemme  worry  'bout  that  side  of  it.  All  you  got  to 
do  is  jes'  like  what  I  says." 

Urias  shook  his  head  in  bewilderment.  "I  — 
I  —  ain't  on'erstan',  Honey." 

"  They's  a  heap  of  things  you  ain't  never  gwine 
on'erstan',  'Rias.  They's  some  things  a  wife  ain't 
got  no  time  tellin'  her  husban'.  This  heah  is  one 
of  'em.  Too  much  infermation  is  li'ble  to  go  to  yo' 
haid.  By  the  way,  Cass,  who  was  fool  nuff  to  buy 
that  busted  car?  " 

"That  autymobile  was  better'n  new,''  defended 
Cass  stoutly.  "  Them  flivvers  ain't  no  good  ontil 
they  is  been  wrecked  a  few  times." 

"Who  bought  it?"  repeated  Elzevir  firmly. 

Cass  grinned.  "  Cap'n  Zacharias  Foster,"  he 
chuckled,  "  the  man  what  owned  it  fust  off !  " 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE 

THE  melancholia  of  the  ages  shone  in  the 
eyes  of  the  dandified  young  negro  who 
leaned  disconsolately  against  the  lamp- 
post before  the  ornate  portals  of  Champion  Moving 
Picture  Theatre  No.  2  —  Coloured  Only.  Even  the 
frankly  envious  hail :  "  'Lo,  Bo  Brumm'l ! "  of  a 
one-time  rival  failed  to  rouse  him  from  his  lethargy. 

For  Florian  Slappey  had  a  grudge  against  the 
world.  Society  had  done  him  dirt.  The  ponies 
persisted  in  running  true  to  form  when  he  played 
the  long  shots,  his  creditors  exhibited  an  alarm- 
ing, and  ever-increasing,  distrust  of  well-phrased 
promises,  his  favourite  lottery  gigs  remained  in  the 
big  glass  wheel  instead  of  appearing  in  the  lucky 
dozen  which  was  drawn  twice  daily. 

It  was  all  wrong.  Not  that  Florian  Slappey 
cared  for  himself :  he  was  well  content  with  a  little 
money,  an  absence  of  the  necessity  for  work,  the 
glory  of  his  social  dictatorship  and  three  square 
meals  a  day.  But  continued  ill  luck  was  tending 
to  thwart  the  greatest  desire  of  Florian  Slappey's 
happy-go-lucky  young  life ;  —  it  was  veering  his 
bark  of  romance  toward  a  surfy  shoal,  and  — 

"'Lo,  Florian!" 

The  lithe  figure  of  the  young  darkey  straightened 
so  swiftly  that  the  angle  of  the  pearl  grey  hat  was 
disturbed  by  three  degrees.  Then  a  hand  —  the 
fingers  of  which  were  tipped  by  well  manicured, 

47 


48  POLISHED  EBONY 

highly  polished  fingernails  —  flew  to  the  top  piece 
and  it  canie  off.  The  body  bent  gracefully  at  the 
waist  and  as  Florian  raised  his  eyes  to  the  super- 
lative pulchritude  of  Blossom  Prioleau  he  flushed 
beneath  his  coat  of  racial  brunette  and  gave  vent 
to  some  of  his  surcharged  emotion  by  the  universal 
device  of  sighing. 

For  if  Florian  was  a  fashion-plate  which  the 
men  of  darktown's  uppermost  social  stratum  cop- 
ied, Blossom  was  of  a  magnificence  of  feature, 
physique  and  raiment  which  defied  emulation. 

The  blood  of  Jamaica  had  blended  with  the  rich, 
red  life  stream  of  imported  Africa  through  many 
American  generations  to  make  of  Blossom  a  per- 
sonal perfection.  She  was  educated  through  the 
sixth  grade,  lacked  none  of  the  social  graces,  a 
good  spender  when  she  had  money  to  spend,  and 
various  white  ladies  for  whom  she  had  toiled  in  a 
domestic  capacity  testified  to  the  fact  that  she  was 
a  marvel  of  efficiency  when  she  cared  to  be. 

Blossom  was  not  opposed  to  work,  as  such.  In 
fact  she  rather  favoured  it  —  for  the  other  fellow. 
For  herself,  she  looked  down  upon  domestic  labor 
as  menial  and  ill  befitting  her  high  social  status. 
Besides,  white  folks  were  inconsiderate  and  lack- 
ing a  sense  of  appreciation.  They  refused  to  make 
allowances  for  her  undoubted  attractiveness  when 
garbed  in  nurse's  cap  and  apron.  They  actually 
demanded  the  services  which  they  expected  to  re- 
ceive from  girls  less  prominent  socially.  She 
craved  a  life  of  luxury,  so  when  she  and  Florian  — 

Therein  Florian  Slappey  was  in  a  fair  way  to 
be  hoist  by  his  own  petard,  for  Florian  was  a  past 
master  of  the  gentle  art  of  fooling  most  of  the  pub- 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  49 

lie  all  of  the  time  and  he  had  fooled  it  into  the 
belief  that  he  was  perenially  workless  because  pe- 
cuniarily insured  against  labour.  The  occasional 
appearance  of  the  correct  three  numbers  chosen 
from  those  between  1  and  78  in  the  lottery  wheel 
had  enabled  him  to  keep  up  appearances  since  his 
advent  from  Montgomery  more  than  a  year  pre- 
viously; and  it  was  in  the  flush  of  enthusiasm  which 
followed  the  winning  of  the  Blood  Gig  —  numbers 
5,  10  and  40,  paying  him  four  hundred  dollars  for 
the  two  he  invested,  that  he  proposed  to  Blossom 
Prioleau  and  was  promptly  accepted. 

Their  engagement,  although  nominally  a  secret, 
had  been  bruited  about  among  the  socially  elect 
and  was  more  or  less  of  a  gossip  sensation.  Flo- 
rian  and  Blossom  had  denied  it  flatly  —  at  Flo- 
rian's insistence  —  for  the  simple  reason  that 
Florian  could  not  afford  a  diamond  engagement 
ring,  dared  not  attempt  to  fool  either  Blossom  or 
her  friends  with  an  imitation  stone,  ard  refused 
to  sacrifice  his  position  as  male  social  dictator  by 
an  admission  of  his  inability  to  supply  his  lady 
fair  with  the  glittering,  conventional  badge  of  vol- 
untary lifelong  servitude. 

Of  late  Florian  had  found  reason  for  rejoicing 
over  this  canny  foresight.  And  only  Jackson  Ram- 
say, the  portly  white  man  who  operated  the  policy 
game,  guessed  that  Florian  was  in  financial  straits. 

Jackson  Ramsay  was  familiar  with  the  symptoms, 
but  fortunately  for  Florian  he  was  tight-lipped. 
But  he  saw  the  dawn  of  worry  in  Florian's  eyes 
with  the  ill  luck  which  followed  the  daily  morning 
drawing  —  known  as  "Pool" — and  the  afternoon 
lottery  —  arbitrarily  yclept  "  Genuine."  Florian's 


50  POLISHED  EBONY 

bets  were  becoming  more  and  more  reckless.  Not 
content  with  saddling  his  bets  and  winning  mod- 
estly he  played  three,  four  —  and  even  five  —  num- 
bers straight.  And  he  had  won  just  as  often  as 
men  who  play  that  system  usually  win,  which  is 
not  at  all.  The  odds  to  the  prospective  winner  were 
alluring;  the  odds  against  him  well-nigh  impos- 
sible. 

For  Florian,  in  common  with  many  thousands  of 
his  fellow-negroes  in  the  South,  fondly  believed 
that  when  78  numbers  are  put  into  a  wheel  and 
twelve  drawn  therefrom  there  was  a  very  good 
chance  of  guessing  three  of  the  numbers  destined  to 
be  included  in  the  dozen.  So  sure  was  Jackson 
Ramsay  that  the  bettor  could  not  perform  this 
feat  of  clairvoyance  that  to  the  guesser  of  three  of 
the  twelve  numbers  he  promptly  paid  200  for  1, 
to  the  lucky  chooser  of  four  500  for  1 ;  and  to  the 
selector  of  five,  2,500  for  1. 

But  no  one,  and  Blossom  least  of  all,  among 
Florian's  friends,  had  suspected  his  pecuniary 
travail  .  .  .  which  accounted  for  their  failure  to 
understand  the  sudden  friendship  between  Florian 
and  Sally  Crouch  —  the  latter  a  stout  female  of 
thirty-five  years  who  owned  and  operated  the  Cozy 
Home  Hotel  for  Coloured  and  was  reputed  to  have 
on  deposit  in  the  First  National  Bank  a  sum  in 
excess  of  three  thousand  dollars.  And  it  was  the 
look  of  frank  disbelief  in  the  lustrous  black  eyes 
of  the  adored  Blossom  Prioleau  which  brought  a 
surge  of  apprehension  over  Florian  Slappey  as  he 
gingerly  squeezed  her  unresponsive  hand.  Florian 
was  unpleasantly  aware  that  he  faced  an  emotional 
Armageddon. 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  51 

"  'Lo,  Blossom." 

"What  you  doin',  Florian?" 

"Nothin'.    What  you  doin'?" 

"  Jes'  walkin'  'round." 

"  Thought  you  was  workin'." 

'"  I  is." 

"  Mis'  Clarkson  give  you  the  day  off?  " 

"  She  don't  give  no  days  off.  Tell  you  how  come, 
Florian:  I'se  sick." 

"  S'posin'  she  finds  out?  " 

"  She  ain't  goin'  to.  I  tol'  Ma  to  stay  'round 
the  house  till  she  comes  down  in  her  automobile. 
Ma'll  meet  her  outside  an'  tell  her  I  is  sick  in  bed. 
That'll  make  it  easier  tomorrow." 

"  I  see."  He  cleared  his  throat  awkwardly. 
"  You  ain't  lookin'  fo'  nobody,  is  you,  Blossom?  " 

"  No."  And  then,  with  quick  suspicion : 
"You?" 

"  Me?    Co'se  not.     Who'd  I  be  lookin'  fo'?  " 

"  Reckon  you  ought  to  know  that  well  as  me." 

"  Blossom,  you's  the  'sinuatinest  woman.  .  .  ." 

"  I  ain't  'sinuatin'  nothin'  I'se  scared  to  say  in 
plain  English." 

"  How  come  you  says  — " 

"  I  reckon  you  an'  me  is  'bout  due  to  do  some 
plain  an'  honest  talkin',  Florian." 

"  I  ain't  like  no  rucus,  Blossom." 

She  sniffed  disdainfully.  "  You  ain't  the  on'y 
one.  But  they's  things.  .  .  ." 

Florian  cast  a  wild,  hunted  glance  about  the 
congested  avenue  with  its  battered  taxicabs,  its 
rows  of  stores  operated  by  negroes  for  negroes,  its 
pretentious  nine-story  office  building  owned  and 
occupied  by  members  of  his  race;  the  Penny  Pru- 


52  POLISHED  EBONY 

dential  Savings  Bank  on  the  ground  floor  .  .  .  and 
finally  his  eye  lighted  on  the  inviting  portals  of 
Broughton's  Drug  Store.  Unpleasantnesses  an- 
noyed him.  He  wanted  peace  and  plenty  of  it. 

"How  'bout  a  soda,  Blossom?" 

"  I  ain't  keen  'bout  no  soda.  What  I  want  is  to 
make  talk  with  you." 

There  was  no  help  for  it :    "  Let's  talk  in  there." 

The  sight  of  a  frothy,  creamy  strawberry  ice 
cream  soda  then  in  the  process  of  being  dispensed 
to  an  ebony  urchin  dispelled  Blossom's  opposition. 
"  If  you  wanna  — " 

They  seated  themselves  at  a  shiny-topped  table 
in  the  farthest  and  most  secluded  corner.  Florian 
gave  the  order  with  the  nonchalance  of  a  million- 
aire. Inwardly  he  was  fidgety.  He  tried  his  best 
to  avert  the  catastrophe :  "  Pink  Broughton  sure 
is  got  a  swell  place  here." 

"  Is  he?  " 

"  He  was  tellin'  me  t'other  day.  .  .  ." 

The  ice  cream  sodas  were  served  and  Blossom's 
long  spoon  probed  tentatively  into  the  foam.  "  We 
ain't  interest'  in  what  he  was  tellin'  you  t'other 
day,  Florian.  What  we's  interest'  in  is  what  I  is 
tellin'  you  now." 

"  You  is  actin'  so  strange,  hon." 

Blossom's  lips  compressed  tightly.  "Reckon 
I'll  be  actin'  stranger  befo'  long.  Why  ain't  you 
been  to  the  house  this  last  two  nights?  " 

"  Business,"  evaded  Florian. 

"  Huh !  Fust  time  I  ever  knew  her  name  was 
Business." 

"  Who's  name?  "     Innocently. 

"  That  big,  fat  Sally  Crouch." 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  53 

Florian  experienced  a  sinky  sensation  near  the 
solar  plexus.  "  Who  said  somethin'  'bout  Sally?  " 

"  I  did." 

"  What  for  you  mention  her?  " 

"  'Cause  she's  what  I  got  to  talk  about.  Fust  off 
I  want  to  ask  you,  Florian  —  is  we  engaged  or  ain't 
we  engaged?  " 

"  Why,  honey  .  .  ." 

"  Is  we  or  ain't  we?  " 

"  Ain't  you  know  — ?  " 

"  I'se  tryin'  to  find  out." 

"  I  done  toP  you.  .  .  ." 

"  Yeh  —  you  tol'  me  a  lot  of  things.  But  there's 
other  folks  been  tellin'  me  contrariwise.  An'  you 
ain't  been  'round  much  lately  an'  I  sort  of  been 
thinkin—  " 

"  You're  the  thinkenest  woman,  Blossom.  You 
ain't  got  no  call  to  be  thinkin'  all  the  time  that- 
away." 

"  I  reckon  I  got  a  right.  Ain't  it  so  I  got  a  right 
when  my  fiansay  goes  traipsin'  'round  with  a  woman 
who  ain't  got  no  education  an'  who  runs  a  hotel 
which  there  ain't  the  best  things  in  the  world  said 
about  it?  Ain't  I  — huh?" 

"  Ain't  been  runnin'  'round  with  her." 

"  Pflf!  Reckon  that  ol'  sofa  in  her  parlour  ain't 
had  a  chancst  to  get  cool  these  last  few  nights." 

"  You're  the  'sinuatinest  woman.  .  .  ." 

Her  eyes  compelled  his  and  held  them  levelly. 
"  I  asks  you  this,  Florian  —  is  you  in  love  with  me 
or  is  you  in  love  with  Sally  Crouch?  " 

"  Honest  t'  Gawd,  Hon  —  I  ain't  care  a  snap  of 
my  fingers  for  that  woman.  I  ain't  never  loved 
no  woman  but  you,  an' — " 


54  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  When  you  gwine  marry  me?  " 

Florian  flushed.  "  This  ain't  no  time  to  make 
marriage  talk,  Blossom.  Things  is  too  'carious." 

"  This  is  the  time  you  gwine  make  marriage  talk, 
Florian.  -I  ain't  calc'latin'  to  stand  no  fumadiddle 
from  you  nor  no  other  man.  You  ain't  never  tol' 
no  one  we  was  engage'  an'  folks  is  sayin'  that  I  is 
runnin'  after  you  fo'  your  money.  .  .  ." 

"  Folks  don't  know  what  they's  talkin'  'bout,"  he 
retorted  earnestly,  thinking  fearfully  of  his  total 
worldly  assets:  an  extensive  wardrobe  and  about 
eight  dollars  in  cash. 

"  Reckon  you  ain't  the  marryin'  kind,  huh?  " 

"  Reckon  I  is." 

"  Then  whyn't  you  marry  me  right  off?  " 

"  I  sort  of  ain't  ready,  Blossom.  They's  business 
reasons.  ..." 

"  Hm !  What  you  know  'bout  business?  You 
got  'nough  money  so's  you  ain't  got  to  work." 

"  I  does  work." 

"  Playin'  the  lott'ry." 

"I'se  secretary  of  The  Sons  &  Daughters  of  I 
Will  Arise." 

"  That  don't  pay  nothin'  much." 

He  hesitated.  .  .  .  "  'Tain't  much,  I  reckon, 
Blossom ;  but  I  reckon  I  might's  well  tell  you  now 
as  later, —  I  need  that  money." 

"  What.  .  .  ?  "  She  leaned  across  the  table,  the 
strawberry  soda  temporarily  forgotten :  "  You 
means  to  tell  me  you  need  the  money  you  git  from 
The  Sons  &  Daughters  of  I  Will  Arise?  " 

He  hung  his  head  in  shame.     "  Uh-huh." 

"  How  come?     I  thought  you  was  rich." 

"  That's  what  they  all  think,"  he  answered  mis- 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  55 

erably  .  .  .  for  greater  shame  hath  no  man  than 
to  admit  his  wealth  is  a  chimera.  "  But  that  ain't 
makin'  it  so." 

"  You  useter  have.  .  .  ." 

"  Useter  ain't  /*.     I  done  had  business  reverses." 

"  Playin'  th'  lott'ry,  I  reckon." 

"Sort  of.  An'  other  things.  An'  that's  the 
truth." 

Silence  fell  between  them.  Florian  Slappey  fin- 
gered the  few  crumpled  bills  in  his  trousers  pocket. 
The  girl  tried  to  readjust  in  a  second  her  precon- 
ceived ideas  of  the  man  and  his  worldly  status. 

"  Broke?  "  she  questioned  directly.  He  was  dis- 
concerted. 

"  Not  entirely." 

"Almost?" 

"  Uh-huh !  I  woulVt  be  tellin'  no  one  only  you, 
Hon.  .  .  ." 

"  Whyn't  you  git  you  a  job?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "My  health  ain't  so  good, 
Blossom.  I  got  the  misery.  .  .  ." 

"  An'  you  — "  And  then  a  light  came  to  her. 
Florian  Slappey,  wealthy,  courted  the  perfect  Blos- 
som Prioleau.  Florian  Slappey,  bereft  of  lucre, 
cast  mercenary  eyes  upon  the  portly  —  and  affluent 
—  Sally  Crouch  :  Sally  of  the  ample  figure,  the  big 
heart,  the  level  head:  Sally  the  uncourted,  the 
hard-working,  the  unbeautiful,  the  none-too-young. 
Blossom  half  rose  in  her  sudden  accession  of  vio- 
lent anger,  and  then  dropped  back  to  her  seat. 
Florian  missed  none  of  the  business  and  knew  that 
his  fowl  was  hung  high.  "  So  —  so  that's  it?  n 
breathed  Blossom, 

"  What's  it?  " 


56  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  You  go  lose  yo'  money  an'  make  a  set  f  r  Sally 
Crouch  'cause  she's  got  a  heap." 

The  hour  for  evasion  had  passed  and  Florian 
knew  it.  He  bent  forward  earnestly,  his  slender 
fingers  with  their  polished  nails  clasping  and  un- 
clasping. "  That  ain't  the  way  to  look  at  it  a  tall, 
Blossom.  You  knows  well  enough  that  I  love  you : 
you're  the  lovinest  woman  I  ever  been  with.  But 
gittin'  married  is  something  different.  Honest,  I 
love  you  too  much  to  marry  you  an1  then  make  you 
work  fo'  me.  ..." 

"  Pff !    I  see  myself  workin'  for  any  man !  " 

"  Sure  —  that's  it !  "  He  brightened  perceptibly. 
"It  woul'n't  nowise  be  fair  fo'  you  to  have  to 
work  for  me  an'  I  ain't  able  to  work  fo'  myself. 
White  folks  asks  too  much  these  days  an'  they  don't 
pay  nothin'.  I  been  tryin'  to  make  back  my  money. 
Mister  Ramsay  c'n  tell  you:  I  been  playin'  th' 
Pool  ev'y  mornin'  an'  saddlin'  over  to  th'  Ginuwine 
in  the  afternoon,  but  the  gigs  ain't  been  comin' 
right,  I  ain't  call  'em  right  no  mo'.  Wunst  I  been 
win  a  few  dollars  .  .  .  but  I  ain't  aimin'  to  marry 
you  on  no  few  dollars,  Hon.  You  is  meant  for  fine 
clothes  an'  such  like.  I  knows  you  woul'n't  want 
to  marry  me  if  — " 

"  Listen  here,  Florian :  you  ain't  too  tin'  a  tall. 
I  got  a  single  mind,  I  is.  I  ain't  fickle.  I  ain't 
never  love'  no  man  but  you  an'  if  you  is  willin' 
they  ain't  no  reason  why  we  cain't  git  married 
today." 

He  shook  his  head  in  sad  negation.  "  'Twoul'n't 
be  fair  to  you,  Hon." 

"  Reckon  I  c'n  jedge  that." 

"I  cares  too  much  to  let  you.     'Cause  ef  my 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  57 

•slreijgth  give  out.  .  .  .  You  ain't  got  no  money 
save'  up,  is  you?" 

"  No,"  suspiciously,  "  I  ain't." 

"Y'see  —  " 

"  You  gwine  marry  me?  " 

"  'Twoul'n't  be  right." 

"  You  mean  you  won't?  " 

"  I'm  tellin'  you  — " 

"  S'posin'  you  jes'  answer  my  question." 

"  Marriage  ain't  like  credit,  Blossom.  Folks  is 
got  to  have  money  or  they'll  be  mis'able.  I  ain't 
got  the  heart  to  ask  no  good-lookin'  woman  like  you 
to  t'row  herse'f  away  on  ol'  trash  like  me.  I  ain't 
aimin' — " 

"  You  is  aimin',"  she  flashed  with  sudden  heat. 
"  You  is  aimin'  to  marry  fat  ol'  Sally  Crouch  an' 
make  her  s'port  you  all  yo'  nachel  life.  Tha's 
all  the  heart  you  got :  jes'  to  make  a  woman  work 
fo'  you  — " 

"  Hoi'  on,  Blossom ;  hoi'  on.  That  ain't  nowise 
fair.  I  ain't  the  kind  of  a  man  to  take  adwantage 
of  no  woman.  Love  is  a  fine  t'ing,  I  says,  but  it's 
espensive  —  like  a  Ford.  I  ain't  got  no  money  an' 
I  ain't  able  to  work.  Doc  Simmons  says  I  ain't. 
Last  white  gen'lman  I  work  fo'  said  the  same  inden- 
tical  t'ing.  I  sort  of  guess  that  poet  what  said 
'bout  bein'  better  to  have  love'  an'  lost  than  to  have 
marry'  the  girl  wasn't  no  liar  at  that." 

"  An'  so,"  bitterly,  "  you  is  plumb  sot  on  marryin' 
Sally  fo'  her  money?" 

"  I  ain't  never  goin'  to  stop  lovin'  you,  Blossom." 

"  Hmph !  Lot  of  good  that's  goin'  to  do  either 
of  us.  Ain't  you  got  no  sense,  Florian?  Is  you 
saw  a  picture  of  Sally  Crouch  as  Missis  Florian 


58  POLISHED  EBONY 

Slappey?  Why  —  why  —  she  even  talks  like  po' 
white  trash.  You  is  a  disumpointment  to  me,  Flo- 
rian  —  that  you  is." 

"  Reckon  you'd  do  the  same  thing  — " 

"  You  ain't  know  what  you  is  talkin'  'bout.  I  se 
had  chancsts,  I  is.  I  got  a  friend  up  home  in  Nash- 
ville name  'Zekiel  Roth  well.  He  runs  a  jitney  line 
an'  he's  got  plenty  money.  I'se  tellin'  you,  Flo- 
rian,  'tain't  his  fault  none  a  tall  I  ain't  been  Missis 
'Zekiel  Rothwell  long  time  ago.  Tha's  what.  But 
I  ain't  b'lieve  in  marryin'  fo'  money  — " 

"  Tha's  whar  you  makin'  a  mistake,"  he  told  her 
earnestly.  "  A  honeymoon  ain't  last  but  a  week  or 
so,  Blossom.  Tha's  whar  its  diff'rent  from  a  bank 
account.  We  always  c'n  love  each  other,  Hon. 
Guess  we  is  just  got  to  try  an'  be  happy.  .  .  ." 

Blossom  rose  abruptly,  a  victim  of  unrequited 
love  and  hurt  pride.  Florian  trailed  her  to  the 
door.  A  few  men  seated  at  the  soda  fountain 
turned  to  stare  with  glittering  eyes  at  her  Juno- 
esque  figure.  Florian  swelled  with  self-pity  and 
affection.  There  was  a  pleasant  glow  imparted  by 
the  knowledge  that  he  was  rejecting  the  hand  of 
this  regal  creature;  doing  it,  he  told  himself,  for 
her  own  good  —  a  Don  Quixote.  There  was  a  hint 
of  moisture  in  his  eyes  as  he  extended  his  hand  to 
her  in  farewell.  "  Ef  on'y  I  had  the  money  like 
what  folks  t'ink  I  is  got.  ..." 

"I  —  I  —  woul'n't  marry  no  —  such  —  man  as 
you,"  she  choked. 

"  Don't  you  go  hurtin'  my  feelin's,  Blossom.  An' 
don't  you  never  fo'get  I  ain't  never  love'  no  woman 
on'y  you." 

"  Ise  goin'  to  remember  ev'ything,  Florian ;  'spe- 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  59 

cially  that  a  man  what'll  sell  hisself  to  a  big,  fat, 
wuthless  wench  ain't  worth  cryin'  'bout." 

She  turned  suddenly  and  walked  swiftly  down 
the  street.  Florian  stared  after  her  thoughtfully. 
He  sighed.  Then  he  smiled.  So  much  for  that. 
The  job,  deliciously  unpleasant  as  it  had  been,  was 
finished.  The  Rubicon  had  been  safely  crossed, 
and  he  flattered  himself  that  it  had  been  rather 
adroitly  handled.  He  was  a  bit  sorry,  of  course, 
that  he  had  been  forced  to  break  the  heart  of  the 
most  glorious  woman  in  darktown's  400  .  .  .  but 
there  was  an  aftermath  of  quiet  pleasure  in  the 
knowledge  that  it  had  been  within  his  power  to  do 
so.  There  was  no  doubt  that  he  had  pursued  the 
sensible  course.  He  had  too  long  worshipped  at 
the  shrine  of  the  money  god  to  underestimate  by  a 
farthing  the  social  value  of  spot  cash.  He  knew 
that  he  would  always  love  Blossom,  just  as  he  knew 
she  would  always  care  for  him.  There  was  a  tragic 
joy  in  the  feeling.  And  there  was  always  the 
chance  that  in  the  near  future  the  lottery  would 
solve  his  problems.  He  fancied  himself  —  in  that 
event  —  laying  his  fortune  at  Blossom's  large  and 
shapely  feet  .  .  .  offering  her  that  and  himself  in 
marriage. 

But  that  day  his  gigs  failed  to  materialize  in 
either  Pool  or  Genuine  and  the  following  morning 
he  made  his  way  downtown  to  be  greeted  by  the 
news  that  Blossom  Prioleau  had  departed  the  city. 

"  Whar  she  gone?  " 

"  Dunno  'zactly,  Florian." 

"Y'ain't  heard  nobody  say?" 

"  Not  'zactly,  though  I  kinder  t'ink  like  mebbe 
somebody  says  'twas  to  Nashville  whar  she  was 


60  POLISHED  EBONY 

bohn  at.    Funny  you  ain't  know  'bout  it,  Florian." 

"Me?  Hmph!  How  come  I  should  know  whar 
she  is  at?  " 

The  fact  remained  that  Blossom  had  gone.  Flo- 
rian  was  pleased.  He  appreciated  the  fine  display 
of  tact  which  had  prompted  her  to  temporarily  re- 
move herself  from  the  scene  of  his  proposed  com- 
mercial courtship.  Thus  his  carefully  planned 
campaign  for  the  ample  hand  of  Sally  Crouch 
would  not  be  injured  by  frequent  distracting 
glimpses  of  the  might-have-been  Mrs.  Slappey. 
Blossom  had  gone  to  visit  Nashville.  .  .  .  Florian 
was  mournfully  happy.  The  martyr  role  secretly 
pleased  him. 

Theretofore  Florian's  attentions  to  the  portly, 
good-natured  Sally  had  been  discreet.  Immedi- 
ately they  became  flagrant.  Society  gossipped, 
marvelled,  then  disgustedly  washed  its  hands  of 
the  affair.  Matrons  ground  their  teeth  as  it  be- 
came more  and  more  apparent  that  Sally  Crouch 
was  destined  to  become  Mrs.  Florian  Slappey. 
There  would  then  be  no  denial  of  social  eminence. 

Florian  held  social  leadership  by  virtue  of  brain, 
education,  and  —  from  the  standpoint  of  the  blind 
populace  —  wealth.  He  was  a  brunette  Chester- 
field and  a  born  leader.  Sally  Crouch  was  the  very 
antithesis.  During  the  past  four  years  she  had 
worked  too  hard  with  her  Cozy  Home  Hotel  to 
bother  much  about  society,  and  her  social  activities 
began  and  ended  with  lodge  gatherings  where  she 
assumed  a  back  seat.  At  the  evening  functions 
she  played  the  dual  r61e  of  wall-flower  and  chaper- 
one.  Being  fat,  and  therefore  good-natured,  she 
cheerfully  recognized  the  fact  that  she  was  not 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  61 

meant  to  be  a  butterfly  and  did  not  bother  her  level 
head  about  it. 

But  after  Florian  Slappey  had  paid  ardent  and 
unmistakable  court  to  her  for  a  period  of  three  con- 
secutive weeks  immediately  on  the  footsteps  of 
Blossom  Prioleau's  departure  for  Nashville  —  life 
assumed  a  fresh  perspective.  Sally's  cosmic 
scheme  was  wrecked  and  rebuilt.  For  the  first 
time  in  a  neglected  life  Sally  Crouch  had  reason  to 
dream  of  social  recognition  and  a  husband. 

And  what  a  husband!  Sally  worshipped  him 
blindly.  He  was  all  which  she  was  not  and  which 
she  suddenly  found  herself  possessed  of  a  desire  to 
be.  She  was  too  happy  and  trustful  to  seek  a  sin- 
ister motivating  impulse  to  his  sudden  passion. 
That  he  was  marrying  her  for  money  never  oc- 
curred to  her  for  she,  in  common  with  others  of 
the  circle,  fancied  that  he  was  more  than  comfort- 
ably supplied  with  the  goods  of  this  world. 

So  she  accepted  her  good  fortune  with  delirious 
blindness.  Florian  became  a  welcome  nightly 
guest  at  the  hotel  dinner  table  and  she  heaped  his 
plate  with  countless  delicacies  prepared  as  only 
Sally  could  prepare  them :  steaks  expertly  charred 
on  the  outside  and  rare  and  juicy  within;  crisp, 
crumbly  toast;  rich  brown  gravies;  thin,  tender 
bacon;  oysters  fried  to  a  succulence  beyond  com- 
pare; puddings  and  pies  and  cakes  warranted  to 
melt  at  98  degrees  Fahrenheit.  She  couldn't  un- 
derstand the  phenomenon  brought  about  by  the 
little  blind  God  and  she  didn't  try.  Sufficient  unto 
the  day  she  found  the  pleasure  thereof. 

She  plunged  into  an  orgy  of  trousseau-buying. 
She  assumed  ill-fitting  airs  of  elegance.  She  tim- 


62  POLISHED  EBONY 

orously  allowed  herself  the  exquisite  luxury  of 
patronizing  a  few  hangers-on  who  had  been  wont 
to  look  down  upon  her  from  their  higher  rungs  of 
the  social  ladder.  And  through  it  all  she  lavished 
upon  Florian  an  intransigent  adoration  such  as 
falls  to  the  lot  of  few  mere  mortals. 

As  for  Florian,  he  proved  himself  possessed  of 
no  mean  histrionic  ability.  And  at  that  it  wasn't 
so  hard  after  the  initial  sting  of  Blossom's  depar- 
ture had  been  soothed  by  time.  He  almost  wished 
that  she  might  be  there  to  witness  the  cheerful  for- 
titude which  was  his  in  the  face  of  sacrifice.  As 
for  his  nightly  banquets  —  well,  the  future  might 
be  loveless  but  there  wasn't  any  doubt  that  Sally 
was  assaulting  the  famous  road  to  a  man's  heart. 

The  Cozy  Home  Hotel  was  prosperous.  He  could 
see  that  with  half  an  eye.  Report  credited  Sally 
with  a  fortune  of  three  thousand  dollars.  He  fan- 
cied gossip  had  underestimated.  It  was  hard  in- 
deed to  forego  the  delights  of  the  glorious  Blos- 
som, but  he  derived  satisfaction  in  the  vista  of 
luxurious  years. 

And  so  he  proposed.  There  may  have  been  some 
of  the  passion  and  fire  of  his  Blossom  courtship 
lacking  but  to  Sally  Crouch  his  declaration  of  love 
was  an  epic.  It  was  her  first.  She  accepted  him 
voluminously.  Stunned  darktown  learned  the 
news  and  congratulated  dazedly. 

It  wasn't  understandable,  but  Florian  admitted 
the  truth  and  as  such  it  was  accepted.  The  Sons 
&  Daughters  of  I  Will  Arise  elected  Sally  the 
following  week  to  the  post  of  Grand  Exalted  Prin- 
cess which,  while  by  no  means  a  high  office,  was 


POOL  AND  GIN U WINE  03 

higher  than  any  to  which  Sally  had  ever  aspired. 
And  Sally  planned  for  a  wedding  which  was  des- 
tined to  live  for  ever  in  social  history.  It  was  to 
be  a  thing  stupendous,  an  artistic  triumph  calcu- 
lated to  place  her  iucoutrovertibly  on  the  very  pin- 
nacle of  the  social  heap.  Sally  was  grimly  deter- 
mined that  nothing  she  might  do  was  to  fail  to  bring 
credit  to  the  proud  name  of  Slappey. 

As  for  Florian,  he  was  alternately  divinely  happy 
and  hopelessly  miserable.  Being  human,  he  had 
never  quite  succeeded  in  ridding  himself  of  the  vi- 
sion of  Blossom's  physical  attributes.  On  the  other 
hand  he  could  not  deny  the  appeal  of  Sally's  af- 
fluence and  her  skill  in  catering  to  his  gustatory 
senses.  Too,  he  basked  benignly  in  her  worship 
of  himself. 

He  played  the  lottery  daily  in  sums  ranging  from 
a  nickel  to  a  dollar.  His  credit  had  improved  since 
the  announcement  of  the  engagement.  Jackson 
Ramsay,  operator  of  Pool  and  Genuine,  cautioned 
the  young  negro  against  too  reckless  play  but  Flo- 
rian was  in  no  mood  to  listen  to  reason. 

"  Winnin'  a  few  dollars  ain't  goin'  to  help  me, 
Mistuh  Ramsay.  I'm  plumb  sot  on  winnin'  big 
or  not  a  tall." 

So  he  played  from  day  to  day :  desperately  —  the 
size  of  his  bets  limited  only  by  the  state  of  his 
finances.  He  essayed  every  combination,  or  gig, 
known  to  professional  policy  players.  The  morn- 
ing drawing  —  Pool  —  found  him  laying  several 
small  bets  with  instructions  to  carry  any  winnings 
over  to  the  afternoon  drawing  —  the  Genuine. 
Once  in  a  great  while  he  won  a  few  dollars. 


64  POLISHED  EBONY 

Usually  what  small  winnings  were  netted  in  the 
Pool  were  swept  away  in  the  Genuine.  And  the 
wedding  day  approached. 

It  was  to  be  an  epoch-making  wedding  with  Sally 
footing  the  bills.  The  hotel  on  Eighteenth  street 
was  to  be  decorated  with  azaleas,  dogwood  and  mag- 
nolias with  a  final  marvellous  touch  of  art  in  the 
shape  of  a  monstrous  pink  and  white  tissue  paper 
wedding  bell.  Reverend  Plato  Tubb,  pastor  of 
the  First  African  M.  E.  Church,  had  been  selected 
from  six  eager  clergymen  who  bid  down  to  a  mini- 
mum of  profit  for  the  honour  of  tying  the  hymeneal 
knot.  Flower  girls  were  drilled  daily.  A  pump 
organ  was  installed.  Officers  of  The  Sons  &  Daugh- 
ters of  I  Will  Arise  were  to  be  present  in  full  re- 
galia and  the  uniformed  drill  team  had  promised 
an  exhibition  in  the  street  immediately  preceding 
the  ceremony.  Every  detail  had  been  arranged 
with  meticulous  care.  Even  Florian  found  him- 
self thrilling  to  the  spotlight  position.  Matters, 
he  felt,  might  be  worse. 

The  wedding  day  arrived.  Florian  rose  early. 
The  sky  was  cloudless,  the  city  droned  with  the 
activities  of  an  early  June  day.  Two  buzzards 
circled  lazily  overhead  but  if  Florian  noticed  the 
omen  he  gave  no  sign.  At  eleven  o'clock  he  entered 
the  lottery  room  and  extended  a  dollar  to  Jackson 
Ramsay.  "  All  that  on  the  Green  Back  gig,  Cap'n 
Ramsay." 

"  Straight?  " 

"  Four  full." 

"All  or  nothing,  eh?" 

"Uh-huh!" 

"  Pool  or  Genuine?  " 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  65 

"  Mawnin'—  Pool.     T'night'll  be  too  late." 

"  Aren't  you  getting  reckless,  Slappey?  " 

"  You  spoke  a  mouffuf  that  time,  Cap'n.     If  that 

four  should  win  I  gets  five  hundred  fo'  iny  dollar. 

An'  nothin' —  nary  cent  —  less'n  that'll  help." 
Ramsay  shrugged  his  pudgy  shoulders  and  wrote 

the  ticket : 

FLORIAN  SLAPPEY 

Pool No.  384 

18-44-45-61  (Straight) 
$1.00 

The  door  swung  back  and  a  wizened  negro  woman 
entered.  To  Ramsay  she  handed  a  dime :  "  Train 
gig,"  she  ordered.  "  I  done  hab  a  dream  las1  night." 

"  15-45-63,"  he  checked  off  as  he  wrote  the  ticket : 
"Straight?" 

"  No  —  all." 

"  That's  how  you  ought  to  play,"  said  Ramsay 
to  the  disdainful  Slappey. 

"Huh?  Me?  If  all  th'ee  comes  out  she  on'y 
gets  sixty  for  one." 

"  Yes,"  reminded  the  policy  writer,  "  but  if  two 
come  out  she  gets  twenty-five  for  one,  and  if  one 
of  them  come  out  she  gets  four  for  one." 

"  That  ain't  my  game,"  commented  Florian  loft- 
ily. "  I  ain't  no  piker." 

The  little  old  woman  gazed  admiringly  upon 
Florian.  "  Yo'  shuah  ain't,  Mistuh  Slappey.  On'y 
I  cain't  'ford  to  play  it  yo'  way.  You  —  you  feel  in' 
well  today?" 

"  What  you  got  to  do  with  that,  woman?  " 

"  Ain't  yo'  know  me?  " 

"  Huh?    Howr  come  I  ought  to  know  you?  " 

"  I  wuks  wiv  Mis'  Sally  down  t'  th'  hotel.  Mis' 
Sally,  she  kinder  'lowed  maybe  come  I  might  sea 


66  POLISHED  EBONY 

you  down  yeah  an'  she  say  tell  you  please  to  come 
by  an'  make  talk  wif  her  fo'  a  minute.'' 

Florian  waved  a  grandiloquent  hand,  left  the  di- 
lapidated building,  and  strolled  idly  toward  the 
Cozy  Home  Hotel.  He  wondered  whether  Blossom 
knew  that  this  was  his  wedding  day,  he  even  specu- 
lated a  bit  on  the  ethical  aspect  of  this  mercenary 
marriage.  He  was  selling  himself  and  his  social 
prestige  for  many  a  mess  of  pottage  and  a  succes- 
sion of  breakfasts  of  crispy  waffles. 

Sally  received  him  in  the  private  parlour.  Her 
greeting  was  effusive :  she  threw  plump  arms  about 
his  neck  and  implanted  a  fervent  and  resounding 
kiss  upon  his  unwilling  lips.  She  was  radiant  and 
palpitant  as  a  schoolgirl.  And  finally  when  the 
amorous  preliminaries  were  concluded  she  seated 
him  beside  her  on  the  couch,  placed  his  arm  almost 
all  the  way  around  the  place  where  nature  had 
planned  a  waistline,  and  — 

"  Reckon  you's  wonderin'  how  come  I  wanted  to 
see  you,  darlin'?" 

"  I'm  always  glad  to  answer  yo'  biddin',"  he  an- 
swered with  forced,  dignified  gallantry,  his  mind 
busy  with  the  terror  that  hereafter  this  woman  was 
to  be  his  daily  companion.  Of  course,  after  the 
honeymoon  he  would  no  longer  be  forced  to  simu- 
late affection.  ...  He  speculated  briefly  and  bit- 
terly on  the  fate  which  made  Blossom  poor  and 
this  creature  rich. 

"  It's  about  disyer  hotel,"  she  started.  Florian 
pricked  up  his  ears.  "  Bein'  as  we'se  most  mar- 
ried I  thought  I  might  'swell  talk  t'ings  over  wid 
you." 

"  That's  right  —  honey." 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  67 

She  snuggled  closer.  "  You  is  sech  a  brainy 
man,  Florian,  I  jes'  sorter  wanted  yo'  adwice  — " 

"  Yes?  " 

"  Y'see,  Florian  —  I  ain't  never  had  nothin'  but 
hahd  wuk  sence  I  got  hoi'  of  dis  hotel.  Fust  off 
w'en  I  took  hoi'  I  done  de  cookin'  an'  de  laundry 
an'  de  maid  wuk  —  an'  I  ain't  had  so  much  money, 
either.  You  ain't  neber  gwine  know  how  hahd  I 
wuk." 

"That's  right,  honey;  that's  right.  You  is  the 
magnificentest  woman  I  ever  did  see.  You  ain't 
got  to  tell  me  that." 

"  I'se  so  happy,  sweetness,  I  is  got  to  talk  wif 
you.  I  sort  of  got  to  t'inkin'  dat  Missis  Florian 
Slappey  cain't  do  all  what  Sally  Crouch  would 
do  — ain't  dat  right?" 

"  You  is  always  right,  Sally." 

"  Yo'  g'wan !  I  wuk  so  hahd  wid  dis  hotel  an'  I 
got  sort  of  wond'rin'  ef  you'd  want  yo'  wife  to  keep 
on  wukin'  like  wrhat  I  been  doin'.  .  .  ." 

"  You  mean  you  want  to  know  is  I  —  er  —  willin' 
you  should  keep  on  runnin'  this  hotel?" 

"  Da's  it.     Da's  it.     Yo'  done  said  it  dat  time." 

He  crossed  his  legs  and  clasped  slender,  callous- 
less  hands  over  one  knee.  "  Hon,  I  got  awful  lib- 
'ral  views ;  'bout  the  lib'ralist  what  is,  I  reckon.  I 
says  a  woman  is  got  jes'  as  much  right  to  work  as 
what  a  man  is  got.  'Course  things'll  be  different 
when  we  is  married  t'night,  but  I  always  says  that 
a  woman  is  got  her  rights  an'  no  man  ain't  got  no 
call  takin'  'em  from  her." 

"  Da's  right,  Florian ;  da's  jes'  right.  But  I 
ain't  want  to  take  no  'portant  step  'thout  constultin' 
you,  an'  today  was  de  last  day." 


08  POLISHED  EBONY 

"How  come  that?" 

"  It's  de  lease.  Is  disaway,  sweetness :  I  done 
had  a  fo'  yeah  lease  what  says  I  got  to  gib  dem 
agents  free  months'  notice  ef  I  want  it  fo'  another 
two  yeahs.  I  'most  fohgot  dat  ontil  I  happen  to 
look  at  de  lease  yestiddy.  What  I  asks  yo'  adwice 
about  is  should  I  sign  it  up  ag'in  or  should  I  let  it 
drap?" 

"  I  got  them  lib'ral  views  like  what  I  done  said," 
he  repeated  earnestly,  "an'  I  got  a  fine  admiration 
fo'  a  business  woman  —  specially  when  her  busi- 
ness is  lucertive." 

"  It  ain't  de  money,  Florian ;  it's  de  sediment.  I 
been  a-wukin'  dis  hotel  fo'  yeahs.  .  .  ." 

"  Tha's  it,  Sally;  but  the  money  counts  too.  I 
ain't  never  been  no  man  to  sneer  with  money.  An', 
b'sides,  ain't  no  matter  what  I  thought  I  ain't  got 
no  call  to  make  you  give  up  a  business  what's 
makin'  money  like  this  hotel  — " 

She  nudged  him  kittenishly.  "G'wan,  Florian. 
How  come  you  t'ink  dis  hotel  makin'  money?  " 

"  Huh?  "  He  was  momentarily  nonplussed,  then 
chose  his  words  carefully.  "  It  is,  ain't  it?  " 

"  No !  Ef  'twas  makin'  money  I  woul'n't  of  ast 
yo'  adwice.  'Tis  disaway :  de  fust-off  yeah  I  run  it 
I  jes'  'bout  break  even;  den  de  nex'  yeah  I  make 
'bout  five  hunderd  dollars.  Come  de  yeah  after 
I  jes'  'bout  bust'  even,  but  dis  yeah  —  Lawdy !  wid 
prices  gone  so  high  an'  me  jes'  a-wukin'  my  fingers 
to  de  bone  an'  detrenchin'  sumpin'  terrible  de  best- 
est  I  could  do  was  lose  all  what  I  is  had  saved  up 
an'  some  mo'  besides." 

"Not  — not  really?" 

"  Sho'  nuff.     I  ain't  got  no  cause  lyin'  to  you,  is 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  69 

I?  An'  I  woul'n't  go  fo'  to  take  de  hotel  fo'  an- 
other two  yeahs  ef  you  was  apposed  to  it,  sence 
inebbe  you  might  hab  to  put  up  de  money  to  keep 
it  goin'." 

Florian  sat  up  very  straight.  Something  was 
radically  wrong.  He  scrutinized  the  face  of  the 
woman  at  his  side  and  found  nothing  there  but 
guileless  simplicity.  He  saw  truth  —  and  a  truth 
which  he  did  not  want  to  believe.  He  couldn't  be- 
lieve it.  "  You  —  mean  —  you's  broke  f  " 

She  nodded. 

"  Plumb  entirely  broke?  " 

"  Might'  nigh." 

"  An' —  an'  you  sort  of  wanted  to  find  out  would 
I  stan'  good  fo'  any  losin's?" 

"Not  perzac'ly  dat,  sweetness.  'Course  I  ain't 
gwine  lose  more'n  two  or  free  hundred  dollar  dis 
yeah,  an'  I  knows  dat  ain't  nothin'  to  you;  but  I 
sorter  fought  mebbe  you  should  want  me  to  sell  de 
furniture  an'  gib  up  de  hotel  .  .  .  anyways,  dat 
would  jes'  'bout  clear  up  my  debts." 

"  An' —  an' — leave  you  how  much  in  the  bank?  " 

"  I  got  'bout  sebenty  dollars  now.  Ef  I  sold  out 
an'  paid  all  my  debts  I  don't  hahdly  reckon  I'd 
have  nothin'.  'Course  I'll  have  you,  Hon,  an'  we'll 
be  pow'ful  happy,  an'  sence  you  ain't  got  no  o'jec- 
tions  against  wuk,  mebbe  I'd  git  a  job  cookin'  up 
to  de  Claremont  'partraents  .  .  .  less'n  ob  co'se 
you  changes  yo'  mind  an'  decides  you  don't  want 
yo'  wife  to  wuk  a  tall." 

He  passed  a  shaking  hand  across  a  perspiring 
forehead.  "I  —  I  —  ain't  got  no  'jections  to  you 
workin',"  he  said  in  a  slow,  dazed  manner.  "  It 
ain't  that  — " 


70  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  Den  yo'  t'ink  I  better  should  keep  de  hotel?  " 

"I  —  I  —  guess  so.  ...  Y'see,  I  cain't  think  so 
awful  good,  Hon.  I  ain't  feel  in'  jest  so  well.  I 
always  thought  this  here  hotel  was  the  payin'est 
thing.  .  .  ." 

She  chuckled  with  good-natured  amusement. 
"  Ev'ybody  fought  dat.  But  what  dey  t'inks  ain't 
bringin'  in  no  dollars.  'Course  I  takes  in  plenty 
money,  but  money  ain't  always  profit,  an'  I 
wasn't  hankerin'  to  make  my  husband  stan'  fo'  no 
debts—" 

"That's  right,  Sally  — that's  right." 

"  So  I  done  been  hones'  wif  you.  Tonight  I  be- 
comes Missis  Florian  Slappey  —  an'  I  fought 
mebbe  you  ain't  want  yo'  wife  to  wuk  like  what 
Sally  Crouch  done.  It  was  right  I  should  ask  you 
'bout  disyer  t'ing,  ain't  it,  sweetness?  " 

"  Yeh  —  it  was  right,  Sally.  On'y  I  got  to  'fess 
it  was  a  kind  of  s'prise.  I  thought  this  hotel  was 
the  payin'est  thing." 

She  rose :  "  You  set  dere  a  minute,  sweetheart, 
an'  I'll  show  yo'  my  books." 

One  hour  later  Florian  Slappey  staggered  blindly 
into  the  street  and  clung  helplessly  to  a  lamppost. 
The  last  scintilla  of  doubt  had  been  dispelled.  He 
had  seen  cold,  stark  figures:  black  on  white.  He 
shuddered  at  the  prospect  ...  he  trembled  at  what 
he  had  done  —  Blossom  gone  and  himself  pledged 
to  marry  this  fat  creature  who  not  only  had  no 
money  but  calmly  proposed  to  saddle  his  insolvent 
self  with  her  indebtedness.  An  old  crony  swag- 
gered along  the  pavement  and  flashed  a  roll  of  bills 
under  Florian's  nose :  "  They's  others  that's  in 
soft,"  he  boasted. 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  71 

"  How  come?  "  asked  Florian,  only  mildly  inter- 
ested. 

"  Lott'ry." 

"  What  yo'  play?  " 

"  Green  Back  gig." 

"  Huh ! "  Florian  experienced  a  thrill  of  ex- 
citement: he  had  played  the  three  numbers  of  the 
Green  Back  gig  with  a  fourth  one  added.  "  Yo' 
play  free  or  fo'?" 

"Three:     18-44-45." 

"  Sixty-one  ain't  happen  to  come  out,  too,  is  it?  " 

"  You  play  them  fo'  straight?  " 

"  Uh-huh." 

The  other  inspected  the  printed  list  distributed 
by  Ramsay  to  his  patrons.  "  Tough  luck.  Ain't 
no  61  on  it." 

"  Guess  I  might've  knowed  that,"  snorted  Flo- 
rian disgustedly.  "  'Cause  if  they  had  been  I'd 
of  won  five  hundred  dollars.  All  the  luck's  ag'n 
me  today." 

The  other  laughed  light-heartedly :  "  You  al- 
ways was  a  li'l  joker,  Florian." 

Slappey  glared  balefully  at  his  affluent  friend, 
half  inclined  to  quarrel.  One  more  number  —  just 
one  more  right  one  included  in  the  dozen  drawn 
from  the  wheel  that  morning  —  would  have  made 
him  temporarily  wealthy.  Discretion  prompted  — 
"  Lemme  five  dollars." 

"  Cain't." 

"  How  come?  " 

"I  —  I'm  owin'  this." 

"Fo'?" 

"  Honest,  Florian.  .  .  ." 

"  Th'ee-fifty?  " 


72  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  You  don't  onderstan' — " 

"  Th'ee?  " 

"  I  c'n  len'  you  a  dollar,"  hedged  the  other  des- 
perately. 

Florian  took  the  dollar  ungraciously  and  made 
his  way  down  the  street  musing  bitterly  on  the 
miserliness  of  his  friends.  Luck  was  certainly  not 
running  his  way. 

At  that  he  retained  enough  of  his  sense  of  hu- 
mour to  chuckle  at  the  irony  of  it.  Blossom,  at 
worst,  would  merely  not  have  been  an  asset :  Sally 
promised  to  be  a  heavy  liability.  There  was  still 
hope  for  him.  He  was  not  yet  married  to  Sally. 
Suppose  .  .  . 

Florian  became  poignantly  aware  of  the  fact  that 
he  faced  a  vital  strategic  problem.  Already  the 
corps  of  amateur  decorators  were  busy  disfiguring 
the  parlour  of  Sally's  white  elephant  hotel.  His 
feet  led  him  past  the  hall  of  The  Sons  &  Daughters 
of  I  Will  Arise.  They  hailed  him  jovially  and 
through  a  window  he  glimpsed  certain  present  and 
past-grand  potentates  in  the  gilt  and  finery  of  their 
drill  uniforms  and  gilt  swords.  He  mooned  si- 
lently through  City  Park,  retraced  his  steps  to  the 
congested  centre  where  he  had  met  Blossom  the 
fateful  day  which  marked  the  termination  of  their 
dream  of  love  and  subconsciously  his  feet  carried 
him  into  the  ornate  lobby  of  the  Penny  Prudential 
Bank  Building.  And  as  he  crossed  to  the  bank  of 
elevators  his  lips  expanded  slowly  to  a  broad, 
triumphant  grin. 

Florian  Slappey  had  evolved  another  scheme. 

The  ceremony  was  scheduled  for  eight-thirty. 
At  seven  the  last  of  the  dinner  guests  finished  the 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  73 

evening  repast,  and  Sally's  assistants  cleared  away 
the  debris.  Then  they  entered  Sally's  room  and 
became  French  maids. 

Sally  was  desperately  fastening  an  expensive 
corset  about  her  expansive  figure.  One  female 
friend  was  assisting  valiantly.  Another  struggled 
nobly  to  lace  the  white  kid  boots  which  did  fairly 
well  at  the  feet  but  were  totally  inadequate  to  the 
difficulties  presented  by  the  elephantine  ankles.  A 
foam  of  lace  and  lingerie  was  scattered  about  on  the 
bed,  and  atop  it  all  a  creamy  satin  wedding  gown. 

Before  the  hotel  the  fife  and  drum  corps  of  The 
Sons  &  Daughters  of  I  Will  Arise  blared  nobly  and 
the  drill  squad  executed  its  evolutions  soberly  — 
cheered  on  by  a  batallion  of  wide-eyed  urchins  of 
the  Ethiopian  persuasion.  A  carriage  containing 
the  Reverend  Plato  Tubb  of  the  First  African  M.  E. 
Church  drove  up  to  the  door  and  the  drill  team 
from  the  lodge  furnished  him  a  guard  of  honour 
up  the  narrow  stairway  to  the  parlour. 

The  guests  arrived  bearing  their  wedding  gifts: 
pink  electroliers,  boxes  of  plated  ware,  clothes  for 
the  bride.  .  .  .  These  were  spread  on  a  camou- 
flaged kitchen  table  in  the  centre  of  the  parlour  be- 
side the  donations  from  former  employers  of  Sally. 

As  for  the  bride  she  was  fluttery  as  though  her 
age  was  twenty  instead  of  thirty-five ;  and  her  figure 
thirty-six  instead  of  ten  inches  more  than  that. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Sally  Crouch  held  the 
centre  of  the  social  stage,  and  she  had  every  cause 
to  exult  in  her  achievement. 

Hitherto  Sally  had  been  regarded  more  as  a  per- 
son than  as  a  woman.  The  sudden  shift  of  Flori- 
an's  affections  from  the  magnificent  Blossom  to 


74  POLISHED  EBONY 

the  more  girthy  negress  was  patently  a  tactical  vie  • 
tory  on  her  part.  No  one  in  the  community  sus- 
pected that  Florian  might  be  marrying  her  for 
money  .  .  .  for  there  was  no  one  in  the  community 
who  guessed  that  Florian  was  anything  but  flushed 
with  worldly  goods. 

The  Reverend  Plato  Tubb  sent  word  of  his  readi- 
ness. Sally  gave  a  fair  imitation  of  a  pirouette 
before  the  mirror.  "  Y'ain't  t'ink  I  is  look  so  bad, 
is  you,  Eva?  " 

"  Lawsy,  Mis'  Sally  —  I  ain't  never  saw  a  pret- 
tier bride." 

"  'Course  I  ain't  got  no  figure.  .  .  ." 

"Ain'  no  man  gwine  look  fo'  no  figure  when 
you  got  them  swell  clothes." 

"  Ev'ybody  here?  " 

"  Ev'ybody.  Drill  team  f 'um  the  Lodge  an'  ev'y- 
thing." 

"  Where's  Mister  Slappey?  " 

"Dunno.  .  .  .  Livonia,  yo'  know  whar  is  Mr. 
Slappey  at?  " 

"  Uh-uh !     Ain't  saw  him." 

"  Go  fin'  him  an'  tell  him  we's  ready." 

Ten  minutes  later  Livonia  returned,  her  fore- 
head puckered.  "  Cain't  find  Mister  Slappey,  Mis' 
Sally." 

"'Cain't  find.  .  .  .  Whaffo'  you  mean  by  dat?" 

"  He  ain't  yeah,  da's  all." 

"  You  ast  them  Lodge  members?  " 

"  Yup.     Dey  ain't  saw  him." 

"  You  mean  dey  ain't  nobody  saw  him  yeah  a 
tall  t'night?  " 

"  Uh-huh." 

Sally  Crouch's  thick  lips  came  together  firmly. 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  75 

Gathering  her  bridal  train  in  one  large,  white- 
gloved  hand,  and  followed  In'  her  retinue,  she  sailed 
into  the  parlour.  She  faced  the  audience  belliger- 
ently. "  Looka  yeah,  coloured  folks :  I  ain't  keer 
how  much  jokes  you  play  after  dis  ceremony  done 
been  over,  but  I  ain't  gwine  stan'  fo'  no  fumadid- 
dles  now.  Whar  Mister  Slappey?  " 

"Really,  Mis'  Sally—"  Reverend  Plato  Tubb 
bustled  forward.  "  They  all  done  said  .  .  ." 

"  I  ain't  keer  whut  dey  done  said,  Reverend 
Tubb  — "  A  small  boy  entered  the  door,  fought  his 
way  to  Sally,  and  forced  a  crumpled  envelope  into 
her  hand.  "  Letter  for  you,  Mis'  Sally." 

"  Ain'  gwine  be  bothered  with  no  letter." 

"  It's  fum  Mister  Slappey." 

Sally  opened  the  letter  with  trembling  fingers: 
then,  without  a  word,  she  perused  its  contents  and 
handed  it  over  to  the  Reverend  Plato  Tubb  — 


DR.  VIVIAN  SIMMONS,  M.D. 

Surgeon  &  Physician 
Rates:    Office  Visit  $1.  Office  Hours: 

House   Visit  $2.  9-10  A.  M.  1-2  p.  u. 

All   Accounts  Cash. 
TO  WHOM   IT  MAY   CONCERN    (and  especially  Miss   Sally 

Crouch) 

This  is  to  certify  that  I  have  on  this  day  examined  the  patient, 
Mr.  Florian  Slappey,  Esquire,  and  find  that  he  seems  to  have 
acute  articular  rheumatism ;  indigestion ;  a  slight  fever  and 
simptoms  of  neuritus.  on  account  of  which  this  is  to  certify 
that  he  is  unable  to  attend  his  wedding  tonight  and  should  be 
excused.  Also  I  certify  that  he  isn't  in  no  physical  condition 
to  get  married  shortly. 

Given  under  my  hand  and  seal  this  fifteenth  day  of  June. 

Dr.  VIVIAN  SIMMONS,  M.D. 
Witness : 
Doll  White. 

That  night  Florian  Slappey  had  a  dream.     He 


76  POLISHED  EBONY 

dreamed  that  he  was  on  a  railroad  train  bound  for 
Nashville  and  the  delights  of  Blossom  Prioleau. 
The  train  reached  Decatur,  Alabama  —  there  was 
a  crash,  a  rending  of  timbers  and  Florian  felt  him- 
self pitched  through  a  window  to  land  easily  and 
hurtlessly  on  the  turf. 

He  sat  up  in  bed,  eyes  wide  and  slender  figure 
trembling.  The  dream  had  been  fearfully  vivid. 
He  rose  and  turned  on  the  light  to  make  quite  sure 
that  it  was  a  dream.  Down  the  hall  he  heard  the 
voice  of  an  irate  woman :  "  Yo'-all  better  be  keer- 
ful  how  you  goes  a-slammin'  doors  thisyer  time  o' 
night ! " 

Pretty  girl  —  train  —  wreck !  The  main  facts  of 
his  dream  remained  distinct  even  now  that  sleep 
had  been  banished.  Florian  had  an  idea.  He  hus- 
tled across  the  room,  opened  the  lid  of  a  battered 
trunk  and  extracted  from  the  tray  a  much  thumbed 
volume  which  bore  the  title : 

PBOF.  HANNIFEB'S  PERFECT  DSEAM  BOOK 
With  Translations  into  Lottery  Numbers 

He  consulted  the  index,  and  finally  turned  to 
page  79. 

Should  you  dream  of  a  handsome  woman  In  conjunction  with 
a  train  wreck  you  will  have  enormous  luck.  Borrow  one 
dollar  from  a  friend  without  telling  him  your  reasons.  Play  a 
quarter  on  each  of  the  following  in  the  morning  lottery  with 
instructions  to  carry  winnings  over  to  the  afternoon  lottery : 

Train  Gig  15-45-63 

Little  Louse  Gig 1-2-3 

Baby  Gig  1-12-40 

Blood  Gig  5-10-21 

Play  these  for  a  single  number  to  win.  With  your  winnings 
play  the  following  five  numbers  straight  in  the  afternoon  lot- 
tery: 

9-17-39-46-78 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  77 

At  eight  o'clock  the  following  morning  Florian 
Slappey  approached  Phillip  Simpson  and  requested 
the  loan  of  a  dollar. 

"Huh?  Whut  you  want  wid  a  dollar,  Flo- 
rian? " 

"  Cain't  say.  But  I  wants  it,  an'  I  got  to  borry 
it." 

"  Ain't  you  got  a  dollar?  " 

"  Yeh." 

Simpson's  eyes  brightened :  "  Tell  you  what  I'll 
do :  I'll  lend  you  a  dollar  ef  you  gib  me  a  dollar 
as  'scurity." 

Florian  speculated.  The  dream  book  ordered 
him  to  borrow  a  dollar.  ..."  That's  all  right," 
said  he,  and  the  exchange  of  money  was  solemnly 
made.  Phillip  winked  portentously.  "  Hope  dat 
gig  draws  out  de  lott'ry,  Florian." 

"  I  ain't  said  nothin'  'bout  no  gig,  Phillip." 

"  You  ain't  need  to.  I  had  dem  dreams  my  own 
self." 

Jackson  Ramsay,  the  policy  king,  welcomed  Flo- 
rian warmly.  "  Renegged  on  the  marriage  game, 
Florian?  " 

Florian  cocked  one  eye.  "  I  is  a  sick  man,  Mis- 
ter Ramsay :  too  sick  to  git  married." 

"  Sure  —  I  know.  What  can  I  do  for  you  this 
morning?  " 

"  Quarter  each  on  train  row,  baby  row,  little 
louse  row  an'  blood  row:  one,  two,  three  numbers 
out  —  winnin's  to  be  carry  over  from  Pool  to  Ginu- 
wine  —  ef  they  is  any  winnin's  —  an'  played 
straight  on  9-17-39-46-78." 

"  Straight  on  five  numbers?  You  certainly 
aren't  very  anxious  to  win." 


78  POLISHED  EBONY 

"Yassuh,  Boss,  I  am.  But  I  ain't  no  piker, 
Cap'n.  It's  big  or  nothin'.  .  .  ." 

"  I've  never  known  of  a  man  winning  five  straight 
on  my  lottery." 

"  They's  a  fust  time  to  ev'ything,  Cap'n." 

Ramsay  nodded,  took  the  borrowed  dollar  and 
wrote  the  tickets.  "Hanging  around,  Slappey?  " 

"  Nossuh.  Got  business  to  home.  'Fraid  that 
almost  wife  of  mine  might  come  'round  to  see  how 
I'm  gittin'  'long." 

Florian  proved  himself  an  excellent  prognostica- 
tor.  At  half  past  ten  o'clock  the  stairway  of  his 
boarding  house  creaked  ominously  under  the  enor- 
mous weight  of  Sally  Crouch. 

Florian  had  set  his  stage  with  a  keen  eye  to 
Sally's  sense  of  the  proprieties.  On  the  dresser 
stood  a  half-empty  bottle  of  suspicious  shape  and 
odour.  A  few  pictures  which  never  could  have  been 
sent  through  the  Comstock'd  mails  adorned  the 
walls.  Her  entrance  found  him  propped  in  a  chair 
immersed  in  the  pictorial  section  of  the  latest  Po- 
lice Gazette.  He  spoke  without  turning  his  head. 
"  'Lo,  Sally." 

"  Honey !  "  Her  arms  went  about  his  neck  and 
she  implanted  a  moist  kiss  on  his  neck.  He 
abruptly  brought  the  other  two  legs  of  his  chair  to 
the  floor.  "  Careful,  Sally.  You  might'  nigh  up- 
sot  me  an'  Doc  Simmons  says  I  ain't  in  no  condition 
to  stan'  no  sudden  shock." 

"  I  wanted  to  come  'round'  las'  night,  Flo- 
rian. .  .  ." 

"  I  was  pow'ful  sick,  Sally.  Might'  sorry,  of 
course,  that  I  couldn't  git  to  come  to  my  wed- 
din' — " 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  79 

Something  suspiciously  like  a  sob  expanded  her 
bosom.  "  I  was  pow'ful  dis'pointed,  sweetness. 
An'  de  guesses  et  up  all  de  supper  I  done  had  fix'. 
When  you  gits  well  we'll  jes'  hab  a  private  cery- 
mony  wid'  de  Rev'end  Tubb." 

Florian's  heart  sank.  He  was  afraid  that  she 
was  still  determined.  "  I  been  thinkin',  Sally  — " 

"  Yeh,  sweetness?  " 

" —  That  after  what  th'  Doc  done  tol'  me  mebbe 
it  ain't  fair  to  no  woman  to  make  marriage  with 
her  right  now,  sick  like  I  am." 

Sally's  eyes  narrowed  slightly.  "  You  needs  a 
woman's  care'u  tenshun,  Florian.  An'  you  talks 
like  you  was  tryin'  to  hitch  out." 

"  'Tain't  that  a  tall,  Hon.  Ef  'twasn't  fo'  the 
booze  — " 

She  sniffed.     "  I  smelled  it." 

"  Sure.  That's  the  trouble.  Doc  says  I  needs 
to  drink  it  to  keep  my  heart  a-goin'  an'  it  makes 
me  pow'ful  wilV 

"Hmph!"  she  retorted  coldly:  "  Reck'n  Sally 
Crouch  c'n  handle  de  wildest  man !  " 

He  shook  his  head  solemnly.  "  That's  right, 
Sally  —  but  I  guess  I  ain't  go  no  right  askin'  no 
woman  to  work  fo'  me — " 

"  How  come  you  make  talk  'bout  wukin'  fo' 
you?" 

"  /  cain't  work,"  he  pleaded  desperately,  a  bit 
alarmed  by  a  rising  inflection  in  her  voice.  "  Doc 
Simmons  done  say  so.  An'  sence  I  lost  all  my 
money  spec'latin'.  .  .  ." 

Sally  rose  suddenly,  and  placed  her  hands  on 
hips.  Her  lips  came  together  tightly  and  she  sur- 
veyed her  might-have-been  spouse  witheringly: 


80  POLISHED  EBONY 

"Mister  Florian  Slappey,  is  you  mean  to  sit  dey 
an'  tell  me  you  is  broke?  " 

"  Uh-huh !     I  is." 

"  An' —  an'  you  was  aimin'  to  marry  me  an' 
lemme  s'port  you?  " 

He  was  thoroughly  alarmed  by  her  manner. 
The  bosom  was  heaving  and  the  flood-gates  were 
perilously  near  to  opening.  "  You  got  me  all 
wrong,  Hon.  I  ain't  aimin'  to  let  you  s'port  me. 
I  sort  of  got  a  pride  'bout  that.  I  jes'  tellin'  you 
that  my  health  ain't  so  good.  .  .  ." 

For  perhaps  fifteen  consecutive  seconds  Sally 
stared  at  the  thoroughly  cowed  Florian.  Then 
suddenly  she  crumpled  into  a  chair,  buried  her  face 
in  her  palms  and  large,  voluble  sobs  caused  the 
room  to  tremble:  "Oh!  my  Gawd!  all  men  is 
alike!  Dey  ain'  none  ob  dem  don't  try'n  take  ad- 
wantage  ob  a  girl.  I  might've  knowred  he  ain't  wan' 
nothin'  but  de  money  he  fought  I  had !  I  might've 
knowed  dat  ef  I  wa'n't  so  blind.  Oh !  Lawdy ! 
An'  he  goes'n  makes  me  redikerlous !  He  goes  an' 
does  dat  — " 

Florian  crossed  the  room  and  patted  her  fear- 
fully on  a  shaking  shoulder.  "Here  now,  Sally, 
Hon  —  that  ain't  no  way  to  carry  on !  That  ain't 
no  way  a  tall.  .  .  ." 

"  You  lemme  go,  you  wuthless  no-'count.  Take 
yo'  hands  offen  me.  I  got  a  good  min'  .  .  ."  She 
rose  and  faced  him,  fury  and  thwarted  love  flashing 
from  her  eyes.  He  retreated  precipitately  to  a  far 
corner  and  held  a  warding  hand  before  him. 

"  Here  now,  Sally  —  that  ain't  no  kind  of  way  for 
no  lady  to  ac'.  .  .  ." 

"  I'se  finish'  wid  bein'  a  lady,"  she  flamed.     "  I'se 


POOL  AND  GIN U WINE  81 

finish'  wid  dat  I  Huh !  yo'  t'ink  I  gwine  s'poht  you ! 
Ain't  de  bestest  man  ever  live'  Sally  Crouch  would 
wuk  fo\" 

"  That's  right,  Sally;  that's  right.  I  ain't  wuth 
it" 

"  No,  you  ain't,  you  li'l  low-down  cheap  spoht. 
I  glad  I  foun'  you  out  in  time.  I  am'  gwine  lay 
hand  on  you,  Florian  —  not  till  yet.  On'y  I  warn 
you  dis,  don't  you  make  de  mistake  ob  comin'  widin' 
smelliu'  distance  ob  my  hotel.  You  heah  me?  " 

He  nodded  energetically.  "Is  you  got  to  be 
goin'?" 

She  put  her  hand  on  the  knob.  "  I  ain't  got  to 
is,  but  Ise  gwine,  Florian  —  jes'  'cause  ain't  no  girl 
safe  wid  you  fo'  long !  " 

Sally's  departure  effected  a  quick  cure  for  Flo- 
rian's  malady.  Less  than  half  an  hour  after  she 
left  the  house  he  was  garbed  in  cream  flannels  with 
a  straw  hat  perched  jauntily  on  the  side  of  his 
head  and  a  once-broken  but  cleverly-spliced  ma- 
lacca  cane  on  his  arm.  Quite  as  a  matter  of  habit 
he  made  his  way  to  the  room  where  Jackson  Ram- 
say held  forth  as  policy  king.  The  bets  of  the  morn- 
ing lottery  —  Pool  —  had  been  paid  off  and  Flo- 
rian casually  inspected  the  dozen  numbers  which 
had  been  drawn  from  the  seventy-eight  in  the  wheel 
and  posted  on  the  board.  Number  63  of  the  Train 
Gig  was  on  the  list. 

"  That  paid  you  a  dollar,"  greeted  Ramsay  cheer- 
ily. "  Gives  you  an  even  break  on  the  morning 
bets.  I  carried  it  over  to  five  straight  on  the  Genu- 
ine this  afternoon." 

Florian  nodded  happily.  Matrimonial  troubles 
seemed  far  behind.  "  'Twas  on  the  Train  Gig,  too, 


82  POLISHED  EBONY 

Cap'n.  I  reckon  Florian  Slappey's  'bout  due  to 
come  in  fo'  a  good-luck  break." 

"  Not  with  five  straight,''  gloomed  the  policy  king. 
"  It  has  never  yet  been  done." 

"  Hrnph !  They's  other  things  been  done  today 
ain't  never  been  done  befo'.  I  got  a  hunch  this 
my  lucky  day." 

The  hunch  persisted  despite  Florian's  veteran 
knowledge  of  lottery  wheels.  He  had  played  five 
numbers  straight :  which  meant  that  from  seventy- 
eight  numbers  in  the  wheel  his  five  must  all  be  in- 
cluded in  the  dozen  to  be  drawn.  Should  four  of 
them  appear  he  would  get  nothing  —  but  should 
all  five  come  out  he  would  be  paid  two  thousand 
five  hundred  dollars  for  the  dollar  carried  over  by 
Ramsay  from  Pool  to  Genuine. 

Had  Florian  been  a  piker  he  wrould  have  sad- 
dled his  bet,  in  which  event  the  success  of  his 
chosen  quintet  would  pay  200  for  1  instead  of  2,500 
for  1.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  appearance  of 
four  of  his  five  would  pay  80  for  1  instead  of  noth- 
ing, and  three  of  the  five  would  net  20  for  1.  The 
negroes  of  the  city  had  played  policy  six  days  a 
week  since  carpet-bagger  times  and  the  winning 
of  a  five  straight  had  never  been  known.  But  it 
was  innate  gamblers  of  the  Florian  Slappey  breed 
which  made  Jackson  Ramsay  —  writh  his  elaborate 
central  office  and  twenty-odd  branches  and  agents 
through  the  city  —  certain  of  a  sizeable  daily  profit. 

Florian  shambled  about  the  negro  section  during 
the  long,  sultry  afternoon  elaborating  upon  the 
symptoms  which  Dr.  Vivian  Simmons  had  outlined 
in  his  alibi  letter.  In  response  to  repeated  state- 
ments that  he  never  looked  better  in  his  life,  Flo- 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  83 

rian  said  that  his  questioners  were  not  physicians 
and  therefore  could  not  understand  a  man's  in- 
nards. He  tried  to  appear  ill  and  failed  miserably. 
He  was  too  exalted  by  his  hunch. 

The  Genuine  was  to  be  drawn  at  six  o'clock.  At 
five-thirty  Florian  Slappey  was  on  hand,  teetering 
a  battered  old  chair  on  its  hind  legs.  He  puffed 
tensely  on  a  cheroot  and  muttered  to  himself  over 
and  over  again  that  he  would  not  win.  But  the 
hunch  would  not  down. 

It  was  a  dingy  room  lacking  all  the  tawdry  finery 
which  the  central  offices  had  boasted  in  the  palmy 
days  of  police  tolerance.  In  one  corner  was  the 
printing  machine  on  which  the  lucky  numbers  were 
stamped  out  and  in  the  foreground  on  a  platform 
a  huge  glass  wheel.  Spread  out  on  a  table  were 
little  squares  of  paper  on  which  numbers  from  1 
to  78  had  been  printed.  Behind  the  table  was  the 
desk  of  Jackson  Ramsay  and  a  small  steel  safe. 
Beside  the  policy  king  sat  his  ebony  secretary. 

Within  five  minutes  of  Florian's  advent  the 
agents  began  to  arrive  from  the  various  sub-offices 
scattered  about  the  city  and  the  bets  were  trans- 
ferred from  their  l>ooks  to  the  central  office  books. 
Interested  bettors  drifted  in  silently  and  seated 
themselves  tensely.  Most  of  them  were  regulars, 
men  who  played  the  lottery  morning  and  afternoon, 
winning  enough  here  and  there  to  supply  them  with 
the  money  to  lose  later  on.  At  three  minutes  be- 
fore six  the  clerical  work  had  been  completed,  the 
numbers  from  one  to  seventy-eight  were  folded  un- 
der the  eyes  of  the  two-score  spectators  and  dropped 
through  a  panel  into  the  glass  wheel.  When  the 
last  one  had  disappeared  the  panel  was  shut  and 


84  POLISHED  EBONY 

the  wheel  spun  to  mix  the  numbers.  A  little  boy 
was  brought  in  from  the  street  and  carefully  blind- 
folded. 

Silence  settled  over  the  gathering.  The  negroes, 
ranging  in  age  from  sixteen  to  sixty ;  in  colour  from 
a  creamy  chocolate  to  blackest  ebony;  leaned  for- 
ward in  their  chairs  and  stared  fascinatedly  at  the 
transparent  wheel.  Jackson  Ramsay  nodded  and 
the  thing  spun  violently,  the  seventy-eight  numbers 
within  tossing  about  in  sight  of  all. 

And  then  the  wheel  stopped  and  the  panel  was 
opened.  The  blindfolded  boy  reached  in  a  skinny 
arm  and  extracted  a  bit  of  paper.  The  quiet  was 
oppressive.  Slowly  Ramsay  unfolded  the  paper, 
and  held  it  up  to  the  gaze  of  the  bettors. 

"Seventy-eight!" 

The  secretary  wrote  the  number  on  a  huge  black- 
board. The  printer  at  his  little  machine  slipped  in 
two  pieces  of  type  and  printed  the  figure  which  was 
displayed  to  the  spectators  and  placed  in  a  little 
rack. 

Florian  Slappey  drew  in  his  breath  sharply. 
Seventy-eight  was  one  of  his  five.  Of  course.  .  .  . 

"Thirty-nine!" 

Another  one!  Ten  more  numbers  to  be  drawn 
and  two  of  his  had  already  appeared ! 

"Forty-six!" 

Another!  Three  out  of  three!  Already  if  he 
had  saddled  his  bet  he  would  be  twenty  dollars 
to  the  good.  He  was  on  his  feet  now,  heart  pound- 
ing and  temples  throbbing;  muttering  to  himself 
all  the  incantations  taught  by  Professor  Hanuifer's 
Dream  Rook.  Three  out  of  three!  Nine  more 
numbers  to  be  drawn  and  only  two  more  needed. 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  85 

Nine  and  seventeen!  Nine  and  seventeen!  If 
only.  .  .  .  Nine  and  seventeen  .  .  .  and  two  thou- 
sand five  hundred  dollars! 

"  Seventy-one! " 

Slappey  sighed  and  settled  back  in  his  chair,  pay- 
iiig  no  heed  to  the  wild  shrieks  of  a  woman  who 
had  bet  twenty  cents  on  46-71-78  and  had  won 
forty  dollars  thereby.  For  ten  minutes  her  paens 
of  joy  continued  until  Jackson  Ramsay  paid  her 
oil  in  five-dollar  bills  and  sent  her  from  the  place. 

But  seventy-one  was  not  on  Florian's  list.  Still, 
there  were  eight  more  numbers  to  be  drawn  and 
only  two  were  needed.  If  only  they'd  come  .  .  . 
the  needed  nine  and  seventeen : 

"  Nine! " 

"  Oo-o-o-oh !  "  came  the  wail  from  Florian  Slap- 
pey's  chair.  He  rose  and  crossed  to  the  wheel, 
great  beads  of  perspiration  on  his  forehead.  The 
word  went  round  that  he  had  played  five-straight 
and  that  four  of  them  had  already  appeared. 
"What  you  need?"  wheezed  one  old  woman. 
"  Which  un  you  need,  Florian?  " 

"  Seventeen  .  .  .  seventeen !  Pray  fo'  that  sev- 
enteen, niggers.  Pray  fo'  it,  all  of  you." 

Seven  more  to  come.  Seven  more  numbers  and 
only  one  needed  to  make  Florian  wealthy.  Seven 
numbers  out  of  seventy-two  left  in  the  wheel! 

"Three!" 

Florian's  breathing  was  audible.  Six  more 
chances.  Six  more.  .  .  . 

"Sixty-three!" 

Five  chances  left.  And  number  seventeen 
needed.  "  Come,  you  number  seventeen !  Come  t' 
yo'  daddy,  ol'  darlin' !  " 


86  POLISHED  EBONY 

"Twenty!" 

Four  more  chances.  Four  more  chances  for  sev- 
enteen to  come.  Florian's  fists  were  clenched. 
His  excitement  had  spread  about  the  room.  Even 
the  man  who  had  won  a  paltry  ten  dollars  with  a 
five  cent  bet  centered  his  attention  on  Florian's 
fight  for  the  needed  seventeen.  "OP  Daddy's 
a-lookin'  fo'  you,  seventeen!  Come  out,  you 
beauty !  Or  seventeen's  a-comin'  to  his  Daddy " 

"  Eighteen ! " 

"  Oh !  you  seventeen !  Tree  mo'  chancsts.  Jes' 
come  out  one  in  that  three,  oP  seventeen,  an'  I'll 
never  ast  you  to  come  out  no  mo'." 

"Thirty-two!" 

Two  more  to  be  drawn.  Two  more  .  .  .  sixty- 
eight  numbers  left  in  the  wheel.  .  .  . 

"  Seventy-seven ! " 

"  A-a-a-a-ah !  OF  seventeen.  .  .  .  Come  out, 
darlin'!  Come  t'  yo'  Daddy,  oP  seventeen.  Ain' 
never  ast  you  no  mo'  ef  you'll  come  this  time.  .  .  ." 

Florian's  face  was  pathetic.  The  perspiration 
streamed  from  it.  The  darkies  who  crowded  the 
room  had  forgotten  everything  save  Florian  and 
his  bet.  One  more  number  to  be  drawn:  sixty- 
seven  in  the  wheel.  His  fingers  closed  spasmod- 
ically. Veteran  professional  gambler  though  he 
was  Jackson  Ramsay  felt  the  strain  ...  he  was 
shaking  from  head  to  foot  .  .  .  shaking  and  fid- 
gety. .  .  .  One  more  chance.  .  .  . 

The  skinny  arm  of  the  blindfolded  negro  boy 
stretched  timidly  into  the  wheel.  His  fingers 
closed  about  a  folded  slip  of  paper.  "  Come,  oP 
da'lin'  seventeen.  .  .  ."  The  paper  dropped  from 
the  trembling  fingers.  The  sigh  that  went  up  could 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  87 

have  been  heard  a  half-block  away.  Perhaps  that 
was  seventeen  which  had  been  dropped.  The  boy 
fished  for  another  slip  of  paper  .  .  .  his  fingers 
closed  about  it.  ... 

Jackson  Ramsay  took  it  from  his  grasp.  The 
fat  fingers  of  the  policy  king  trembled  visibly.  He 
opened  it  face  outward  so  that  the  audience  could 
read  the  figure.  ...  It  opened!  A  roar  split  the 
roof.  .  .  . 

"  Seventeen! " 

At  five  minutes  before  midnight  the  northbound 
Louisville  &  Nashville  train  puffed  out  of  the  shed. 
In  the  negro  coach  was  a  dandified  young  man  who 
lounged  comfortably  in  his  seat  and  seemed  in- 
effably at  peace  with  the  world.  The  fingers  of  his 
right  hand  never  left  his  trousers  pocket  where 
they  caressingly  fingered  a  roll  of  bills  containing 
something  under  two  thousand  five  hundred  dol- 
lars in  United  States  currency. 

Florian  Slappey  was  in  the  grip  of  a  radiant 
happiness  which  comes  to  but  few  men.  After 
blackest  darkness  rosiest  dawn  had  come.  He  was 
emancipated  from  money  trouble,  he  had  engraved 
his  name  in  policy  history,  he  was  well  rid  of  the 
too  ardent  and  too  stout  Sally  Crouch,  and,  above 
all,  he  was  speeding  northward  to  lay  his  fortune 
and  his  heart  at  the  feet  of  the  glorious  Blossom 
Prioleau. 

Never  had  she  seemed  as  desirable  as  at  this 
moment.  Blossom  and  money!  A  honeymoon  to 
New  York  or  St.  Louis!  An  epoch-making  wed- 
ding! A  handsomely  furnished  home!  A  phono- 
graph !  Perhaps,  even,  a  Ford ! 


88  POLISHED  EBONY 

Florian  Slappey  did  not  sleep  that  night.  He 
was  too  drunk  with  unalloyed  joy.  His  dreams 
were  waking  ones  .  .  .  and  all  of  Blossom. 

At  seven  o'clock  he  left  the  train,  climbed  a  long 
flight  of  steps,  passed  through  the  coloured  waiting- 
room  and  stepped  into  the  street.  Nashville  was 
rousing  itself  sleepily  from  a  cool,  pleasant  night. 
Street  cars  clanged  impatiently  before  the  Union 
Station,  jitneys  scudded  up  and  down  the  avenue 
—  to  the  left  he  could  see  the  beckoning  gates  of 
Parthenon  Park. 

Florian  turned  to  his  right  and  a  block  down 
the  street  stopped  at  a  restaurant  where  he  ate 
heartily  of  bacon  and  eggs  and  pancakes  and  coffee. 
At  eight-fifteen  he  entered  a  negro  barber  shop  and 
was  shaved  and  shined  and  shampoo'd. 

Then  he  resumed  his  march  down  the  street  until 
a  cross  street  gave  him  a  glimpse  of  the  Tennessee 
State  Capitol  to  the  left.  He  followed  this  street 
leisurely  until  he  reached  the  imposing  grey-stone 
edifice,  where  he  paused  to  admire  impartially. 

His  watch  told  him  that  the  hour  of  nine-thirty 
had  been  reached.  He  resumed  his  walk  —  pass- 
ing the  Capitol  and  descending  a  very  steep  hill 
toward  a  section  where  the  coloured  royalty  re- 
sides. He  took  a  short  cut  through  an  alley.  On 
the  corner  of  the  alley  and  the  next  avenue  was  the 
Prioleau  family  home. 

He  walked  slowly,  wishing  to  surprise  Blossom. 
He  approached  the  cottage  from  the  rear.  His 
heart  bounded! 

There  was  Blossom  on  the  veranda:  Blossom, 
radiant,  alluring,  irresistible,  delicious  in  a  waist 


POOL  AND  GINUWINE  89 

of  yellow  georgette  crepe,  a  skirt  of  red  serge,  lace 
boots  of  grey.  He  started  toward  her.  .  .  . 

A  handsome  limousine  rolled  down  the  street  and 
stopped  before  the  Prioleau  house.  The  negro 
chauffeur  leaped  to  the  ground  and  opened  the 
door  for  his  mistress:  a  regal  example  of  the  best 
of  Nashville's  white  folks.  The  lady  spoke  to  Blos- 
som in  dulcet,  soothing  tones.  "  I'm  looking  for 
Blossom  Prioleau,"  she  said. 

"Well?"  answered  Blossom  noncommittally. 

"  Are  you  Blossom  Prioleau?  " 

"  I  was,"  came  the  soft  answer.  "  I'm  Missis 
'Zekiel  Roth  well  now!" 

"Oh!"  The  lady  was  taken  back  a  bit,  and 
then,  just  because  she  felt  that  it  was  up  to  her 
to  explain :  "  I'm  looking  for  a  washwoman.  .  .  ." 

"  So  am  I,"  returned  Blossom  conversationally. 
"  Servants  is  pow'ful  hahd  to  get  these  days,  ain't 
they?  " 

Florian  Slappey  turned  abruptly  and  retraced 
his  steps  up  the  alley.  Blossom  married  —  mar- 
ried commercially.  He  was  surprised  and  infi- 
nitely pained.  He  had  thought  better  of  her  than 
that. 

His  fingers  pressed  against  the  huge  roll  of  bills. 
Two  thousand  five  hundred  dollars !  A  warm  glow 
of  satisfaction  stole  over  him. 

"  Well,  anyway,"  he  murmured  philosophically, 
"'reckon  I  ain't  got  no  call  'specting  ev'ything  to 
break  my  way !  " 


THE  AMATEUR  HERO 


THE  AMATEUR  HERO 

ELIAS  RUSH  waked  to  find  himself  a 
hero.  His  eyes  flickered  open  upon  a  sea 
of  anxious  faces  ranging  in  colour  from 
uncompromising  black  to  a  rich,  creamy  yellow. 
Babel  beat  upon  his  water-soaked  eardrums: 
"  Stan'  back,  coloured  folks.  Ain't  yo'-all  see  he's 
comin'  too?"  "  Giv'm  air!"  "You,  Florian 
Slappey,  quit  that  there  trespassin'  on  my  toes  — 
you  want  to  t'row  me  over  on  him?"  "Stan' 
back  —  stan'  back  —  yonder  comes  Doc  Simmons !  " 

Dr.  Vivian  Simmons,  slender,  immaculate,  pom- 
pous ;  his  rich  chocolate  complexion  framed  behind 
horn-rimmed  spectacles,  shouldered  through  the 
crowd,  dropped  to  one  knee  beside  the  water- 
logged sufferer  and  produced  a  stethoscope.  He 
fitted  the  tubes  into  his  ears,  opened  Elias's  near- 
silk  shirt,  palmed  his  watch  and  frowned  porten- 
tously. Then  he  rose,  shook  his  head  gravely  and 
summoned  to  his  aid  the  dandified  Florian  Slappey. 

Of  what  occurred  immediately  thereafter  Elias 
Rush  has  an  indistinct  but  decidedly  painful  recol- 
lection. Somebody  magically  produced  a  barrel 
and  some  one  else  placed  Mr.  Rush,  face  down, 
across  it.  Strong  hands  seized  his  feet  and  under 
the  direction  of  Dr.  Simmons,  and  without  heed  to 
the  patient's  wild  yells,  proceeded  to  knead  his 
tummy. 

The  treatment  was  heroic, —  the  results  more 

93 


94  POLISHED  EBONY 

than  satisfactory.  Eventually  Elias  Rush  stood 
on  his  own  feet ;  very  weak  and  infernally  trembly. 
Water  cascaded  from  his  Sunday  clothes,  which 
were  shrinking  alarmingly  despite  their  all-wool 
guarantee.  His  eyes  roved  above  the  heads  of  the 
coloured  human  mass  to  rest  upon  the  amusement 
devices  of  Blue  Lake  Park:  the  Shoot  the  Chutes, 
the  Roller  Coaster,  the  blatant  Carousel  and  the 
dozen  or  more  eating  concessions.  He  was  no 
longer  even  mildly  interested  —  until  his  gaze 
lighted  upon  a  crowd  nearby  absorbedly  engaged 
in  a  task  which  reminded  him  nauseatingly  of  the 
barrel  experience  he  had  just  survived.  Then  re- 
membrance of  the  wherefores  returned. 

There  had  been  a  hiring  of  a  rowboat  and  a  tenta- 
tive poking  about  in  the  middle  of  the  lake.  He 
remembered  watching  with  impersonal  interest  the 
bobbing  head  of  a  Venus-like  young  coloured  lady 
who  dared  the  deepest  part  of  the  lake  —  then  a 
sudden  facial  twisting  of  terror,  a  plunge  .  .  .  and 
a  long-drawn  whooshy  howl. 

He  had  leaped  to  the  bow  of  his  skiff  in  the  at- 
tempt to  seize  the  arm  of  the  drowning  girl.  But 
she  sank  before  he  got  there.  His  boat  drifted 
away.  Tough  luck.  .  .  .  But  as  he  drew  back  his 
foot  slipped  and  he  found  himself  in  the  water. 
Thereupon  he  grabbed  for  whatever  was  nearest 
and  it  proved  to  be  Imogene.  He  clung  to  her 
frantically  and  both  went  down. 

Once,  many  years  before,  Elias  Rush  had  been 
able  to  swim.  His  little  knowledge  came  to  his  aid, 
terror-spurred.  He  struggled  like  a  madman  to 
free  himself  from  the  girl's  desperate  clutch.  He 
managed  to  remain  above  the  surface  long  enough 


THE  AMATEUR  HERO  95 

to  grab  the  side  of  his  boat.  There-  he  clung  .  .  . 
and  Fate  itself  couldn't  have  broken  his  clutch. 
He  was  pale  green  with  terror.  He  was  scarcely 
conscious  of  the  woman  whose  plump,  rounded 
arms  clasped  his  thin  neck.  It  was  fortunate  for 
Imogene  that  her  head  happened  to  be  above  wa- 
ter. 

In  the  first  place  he  was  not  intended  to  be  a 
hero.  He  was  not  of  the  stuff  of  which  heroes  are 
made.  All  his  life  he  had  been  shy,  wistful,  re- 
tiring ;  keeping  alwrays  in  the  rear  ranks  of  a  crowd, 
shunning  leather-voiced,  coarsed-mouthed  men  and 
finding  himself  excessively  timid  in  the  presence  of 
women  .  .  .  and  especially  beautiful  ones. 

The  head  of  Dr.  Vivian  Simmons  rose  command- 
ingly  above  the  crowd  ganged  about  the  prostrate 
Imogene.  He  beckoned  authoritatively  to  Elias 
and  Elias  sloshed  uncertainly  to  the  centre  of  the 
circle. 

He  gazed  down  at  the  girl  and  for  the  first  time 
experienced  a  warm  glow  of  satisfaction  in  the 
knowledge  that  he  had  saved  her  life.  Truly  she 
was  a  regal  creature :  a  woman  he  had  known  only 
in  his  love-studded  dreams.  She  was  large  and 
rounded  and  amply  curved  and  —  well,  he  was  not 
too  ill  to  notice  that  the  bathing  suit  she  wore  con- 
cealed none  of  her  feminine  charms. 

Her  dusky  face  was  a  bit  paler  than  normal,  but 
the  look  she  bestowed  upon  Elias  Rush's  bedrag- 
gled figure  was  not  hard  to  interpret.  She  ques- 
tioned him  direct : 

"Is  you  him?" 

"Is  —  ialwhof" 

"  Is  you  the  man  what  saved  my  life?  " 


96  POLISHED  EBONY 

Shy  _  bashful .  .  .  Elias  fidgeted.  "  That  warn't 
nothin'." 

"  'Twas  too." 

Elias  was  not  an  argumentative  chap  which  was 
why  his  disclaimer  of  intention  never  passed  the  tip 
of  his  tongue  where  it  momentarily  hung  trembling. 
Besides,  he  was  beginning  to  take  stock  of  him- 
self. .  .  . 

All  about  him  was  a  buzz  of  conversation.  Each 
person  of  the  thousands  who  had  gathered  at  Blue 
Lake  for  their  regular  Sunday  outing  had  been 
there  for  the  special  purpose  of  being  an  eye-witness 
to  Elias's  rescue  of  the  radiant  Imogene.  And 
each  eye-witness  insisted  on  telling  his  story  — 
feeling  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  supply  some  vital 
detail  which  the  last  story-teller  had  overlooked. 
Elias  Rush  listened  pop-eyed  to  Florian  Slappey, 
who  at  that  moment  held  the  centre  of  the  stage  — 

"  You  folks  ain't  know  what  you  is  talkin'  'bout. 
I  was  sittin'  by  the  boat-house  a-lookin'  at  that 
Imogene  'cause  I  had  a  hunch  they  was  somethin' 
wrong  the  way  she  was  strokin'  'bout.  I  says  to 
myself,  I  says:  'Florian,  that  they  woman  is 
feelin'  bad.  Florian,'  I  says,  ( she's  gwine  git  in 
trouble.'  An'  sho'  'nough,  jes'  'bout  that  time  she 
gives  a  wiggle  an'  a  twist  an'  down  she  goes. 

"  That  there  —  what  yo'-all  say  his  name  is?  " 

"  'Lias  Rush.     He  come  up  here  from  Dothan." 

"  I  know  all  'bout  whar  he  come  from.  Anyway, 
'Lias  Rush  was  rowing  right  by  there  an'  he  give 
one  look  an'  seen  her  go  down.  He  jes'  a-leaped 
fo'  the  front  of  the  boat  an'  grabbed  at  her.  But 
he  missed  an'  then  he  stood  up  jes'  as  ca'm  an'  cool 
an'  put  his  hands  above  his  haid  an'  dove  over. 


THE  AMATEUR  HERO  97 

Purties'  dive  I  ever  did  see.  Wen  he  come  up  he 
had  her  but  she  was  a-fightin'  sumthin'  terrible. 
Any  other  man  would  of  let  go  —  but  he  didn't. 
Nossuh :  not  him.  B'lieve  me,  folks,  that  was  the 
terriblest  fight  I  ev'  did  see.  Fin'ly  they  come  up 
ag'in  an'  he  jus'  plumb  grabbed  her  by  the  neck  an' 
swum  fo'  that  boat.  How  he  got  there  is  a  puzzle 
to  me  an'  I'm  tellin'  yo'  I  was  watchin'  close. 
'Twas  a  even  break  they  was  both  gwine  git  drown', 
but  he  nev'  let  loose, —  not  fo'  one  minute.  I'm 
tellin'  yo',  coloured  folks,  that  there  'Lias  Rush 
from  Dothan  is  a  hero  right !  " 

Elias  moved  off  meditatively  in  the  direction  of 
the  carousel.  He  felt  a  battery  of  approving  eyes 
upon  him.  The  hum  of  enthusiastic :  "  Thar  he 
goes !  "  "  Da's  de  man  what  rescued  Imogene  Car- 
ter: da's  him."  "Ain't  he  de  modestest  man?" 
"  Reckon  dey  ain't  no  real  heroes  goes  boastin*  'bout 
what  dey  done !  " 

Elias  Rush  ceased  to  bemoan  his  soaked  gar- 
ments. They  had  become  the  habiliments  of  a 
hero.  The  discourse  of  Florian  Slappey  had  con- 
verted him.  Florian,  in  the  first  place,  was  dark- 
town's  social  mentor;  a  wealthy  young  negro  — 
magnificent  in  self-importance.  In  the  second 
place  Florian  had  convinced  him  of  facts  that  he 
had  not  before  realized.  Of  course  he  could  have 
let  go  of  Imogene  had  he  cared  to  do  so.  But  he 
wasn't  that  kind  of  a  man :  not  him.  'Magine  'Lias 
Rush  leavin'  a  woman  to  drowned  jes'  to  save 
heself.  Why,  he'd  risk  his  life  any  day  to  save 
somebody  else.  It  come  jes'  as  easy. 

A  clerical  looking  gentleman  fell  into  step  be- 
side him.  "  They  tell  me  yo'  name  is  'Lias  Rush." 


98  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  Yassuh  —  da's  me." 

"  Stranger  here?  " 

"  Been  heah  'bout  a  month.     Up  from  Dothan." 

"Living  here?" 

"  Yassuh.  Shuah  is.  Bought  a  half  interest  in 
Pinetop  Roller's  pressin'  club." 

An  ebony  hand  came  out  to  clutch  Elias's  skinny 
fingers.  "  I'm  the  Rev'end  Plato  Tubb  of  the  Fust 
African  M.  E.  Chu'ch.  It  done  me  proud  to  see 
how  come  you  to  save  that  gal.  I  wisht  you  would 
come  to  services  t'night  at  eight  o'clock  so's  I  c'n 
offer  up  a  prayer  of  thanks  fo'  the  d'liverance  of  you 
both." 

Elias  promised.  He  would  hav<j  promised  any- 
thing about  then.  He  left  the  Reverend  Tubb  and 
found  himself  hedged  in  by  a  crowd  which  de- 
manded a  personal  recital  of  his  heroism: 
"  'Twarn't  nothin',"  disclaimed  the  hero.  "  Over 
she  go,  an'  over  I  go.  Git  in  de  water  an'  grab 
her.  Hoi'  on.  Swim  in.  Da's  all.  Ain't  nothin' 
to  make  no  fusses  over." 

"  I  'clare  to  goodness :  heah  dat  man.  Saves  a 
'ooman  an'  mos'  dies  an'  says  'tain't  nothin'." 

Elias  expanded  to  the  occasion.  "  Co'se  'twarn't 
nothin'.  Jes'  savin'  a  woman  from  drowndin'? 
Sho'—  dat  ain't  nothin'  tall! " 

"  Y'ain't  never  saved  no  others  befo'  this,  is 
you?" 

"Save  folks  from  drowndin'?"  Elias's  skinny 
chest  protruded  with  indignation.  "  Woman,  you 
talks  foolish.  Co'se  I  is  save  folks  befo'.  You 
reckon  I  acted  like  I  wasn't  use'  to  it?  " 

A  deep  basso  boomed  across  the  lot :  "  Mi-i-isto* 
Rush!  Misto'  Rush!" 


THE  AMATEUK  HERO  99 

"Heah  yis,"  shrilled  a  youngster  in  the  group 
about  Elias. 

A  large,  bullet-headed,  well-dressed  negro  strode 
across  and  towered  above  the  diminutive  hero. 
"Is  you 'Lias  Rush?" 

"  I  is." 

"I'm  Cla'nce  Carter  —  brother  of  the  gal  what 
you  done  save  her  life.  Lemme  thank  you.  .  .  ." 

"  Da's  a'right  —  a'right.  Jes'  li'l  excercise,"  an- 
swered the  exalted  Elias,  striving  not  to  grimace 
under  the  bone-crushing  grip  of  the  grateful 
brother. 

"  Huh !  Reckon  any  man  what'll  save  a  gal 
casyal  like  an'  'most  drownd  hisself  doin'  it  ain't 
goin'  to  boast  'bout  it.  But  what  I  want  to  ast 
you  is  what  is  yo'  doin'  this  evenin'  ?  " 

«  Nothin'.     Why?  " 

"  I  got  a  cyar  out  heah  —  I  was  thinkin'  mebbe 
you'd  drive  home  with  Imigene  an'  me,  an' — "  with 
an  owlish  wink,  "  take  a  bit  of  a  nip  to  keep  you 
from  catchin'  col'." 

Elias  agreed  readily,  more  than  a  little  dazed 
at  the  nonchalance  with  which  the  brother  of  the 
girl  he  had  saved  spoke  of  his  car.  The  car  proved 
to  be  a  very  presentable,  six-cylinder,  seven-passen- 
ger affair,  and  Elias  later  learned  that  Clarence 
made  an  extremely  good  living  with  that  car  in  his 
capacity  of  free  lance  taxicabber. 

With  Clarence  at  the  wheel,  Elias  settled  shiv- 
eringly  in  the  tonneau  beside  the  still  weak  but 
openly  adoring  Imogene.  As  they  rolled  out  of  the 
gates  of  Blue  Lake  Park  the  crowd  huzza'd  a  fare- 
well. 

If  Imogene  had  appeared  bewitching  in  her  one- 


100  POLISHED  EBONY 

piece  bathing  suit,  she  was  bewildering  now.  A 
large  red  and  white  straw  hat  flopped  tantalizingly 
about  her  well-shaped  head;  she  wore  a  V-cut,  yel- 
low crepe-de-chine  waist  and  a  white  duck  skirt. 
Her  face  had  assumed  an  appealing  pallor,  and 
her  lustrous  black  eyes  shone  into  his  with  a  frank 
avowal  of  adoration.  And  scarcely  had  Clarence 
let  his  gears  in  and  sent  the  car  rolling  down  the 
smooth,  white  road  toward  the  city  than  Imogene 
nestled  unashamedly  against  her  damp  hero  and 
snuggled  a  warm  hand  into  his. 

It  was  a  new  experience  for  Elias  Rush.  Of 
course  there  had  been  women  in  his  life  .  .  .  but 
this  regal  product  of  the  city,  this  radiant  creature 
of  education  and  of  culture,  this  —  this  —  his 
skinny  fingers  closed  tightly  about  hers  and  he 
sighed  deeply. 

"I  ain't  had  no  chancst  to  thank  you,  Mistuh 
Rush.  .  .  ." 

Elias  was  a-tremble  from  head  to  foot:  his  ca- 
pitulation to  this  first  grande  passion  was  as 
thorough  as  it  was  nerve-wracking.  "  'Twarn't 
nothin',"  he  mumbled  thickly,  "  'twarn't  nothin' 
tall." 

"  Reckon  /  think  different,"  she  returned  coyly. 
"  Ef  you  ha'n't  risked  yo'  life  I'd  of  been  dead." 

"  Hmph !  Reckon  I  ain't  lettin'  no  wimmin 
drownd  'round  whar  I  is  at." 

She  spoke  very  softly :  "  I  owes  you  my  life  — 
'Lias." 

"G'wan  wid  you.  .  .  ."  His  eyes  met  hers: 
"  Aw,  sa-a-ay.  .  .  ." 

"  I  does." 

"  I  ain't  done  nothin'  tall.  .  .  ." 


THE  AMATEUR  HERO  101 

"  I  owes  you  my  life.  But,"  wistfully,  "  I  reckon 
they  ain't  no  way  I  c'n  pay.  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  dey  is." 

"  How  so?  " 

"You  —  you — "  The  years  of  chronic  self-ef- 
facement asserted  themselves  and  Elias  found  him- 
self tongue-tied  on  the  verge  of  an  avowal  of  love. 
"  'Twarn't  nothin'  I  done  —  not  nothin'  tall." 

"I  owes  you  my  life,"  she  repeated  doggedly. 
"They  ain't  nothin'  you  could  ast  me  I  woul'n't 
say  yes  to." 

He  flushed  redly  beneath  his  natural  brunette. 
"  Y-y-yes,  dey  is." 

"  Not  nothin'! " 

"  S-s-s-sposin'  I  ast  you  to  —  to  — " 

"  To  —  what?  "  she  cooed  softly. 

"  To  —  to  —    S'posin'  I  ast  you  to  kiss  me?  " 

Imogene  flashed  a  quick  glance  around.  The  dis- 
creet Clarence  was  gazing  straight  ahead.  They 
were  speeding  through  a  brief  stretch  of  country 
—  not  a  house  within  half  a  mile. 

A  pair  of  warm,  plump  arms  wound  suddenly 
abont  the  thin  neck  of  the  delirious  Elias,  a  pair  of 
luscious  lips  came  close  —  closer  —  and  were 
pressed  against  his  in  a  long,  clinging  kiss  of  sur- 
render. He  sighed  mightily  and  shivered  deli- 
ciously.  Then  the  lips  withdrew  and  the  arms 
unwound.  .  .  . 

"  Reckon  that  ain't  nothin'  to  do  fo'  the  man  what 
you  owes  yo'  life  to,"  defended  the  lady. 

"I  —  I  ain't  want  no  kiss  ob  gratitude,"  dared 
Elias. 

"  What  is  it  you  wants?  " 


102  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  It  —  it's  —  Reckon  you  wouldn't  b'lieve  me  ef 
I  was  to  say  —  ef  I  was  to  say  — " 

"Ye-e-es?" 

"I  —  I'se  pow'ful  stuck  on  you,  Imigene. 
Co'se  you  is  on'y  jus'  met  me.  .  .  ." 

"Huh — 'Lias!  Reckon  they  ain't  no  woman 
could  help  fallin'  in  love  wid  a  man  like  you! " 

During  the  three  days  which  followed  Elias  Rush 
became  aware  of  the  fact  that  he  had  grossly  un- 
derrated himself.  All  his  life  he  had  been  shy 
and  bashful  and  retiring.  At  social  affairs  in  Do- 
than  he  had  been  a  congenital  wall-flower.  The 
elderly  women  and  the  old  men  liked  him,  and  chil- 
dren found  him  congenial.  But  among  those  of 
his  age  he  had  been  supine  —  avoiding  turmoil  and 
strife  and  argument  as  one  shuns  the  plague. 

In  fact,  when  the  opportunity  of  buying  a  half- 
partnership  in  Pinetop  Roller's  Pressing  Club  for 
two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  which  amount  in- 
cluded fees  for  Hon.  Evans  Chew,  coloured  attor- 
ney and  counsellor  at  law,  presented  itself,  Elias 
held  back  for  some  time  because  he  was  secretly 
afraid  of  the  big  city  in  which  the  business  was 
located.  That  he  had  accepted  eventually  had  been 
principally  due  to  the  professional  efforts  of  the 
aforementioned  Chew,  whose  fees  from  the  parties 
of  the  first  and  second  parts  hung  in  the  balance. 

His  unwilling  rescue  of  the  divine  Imogene 
taught  Elias  many  hitherto  unsuspected  things  re- 
garding himself.  He  had  experienced,  for  one 
thing,  the  exquisite  agony  of  requited  love.  He 
learned  that  he  was  a  hero.  He  learned,  further- 
more, that  since  he  had  proved  his  prowess  in  pub- 


THE  AMATEUR  HERO  103 

lie,  that  same  public  was  eager  to  believe  anything 
which  he  might  say  in  private.  And  whatever 
Elias  may  have  lacked  in  bulk  of  body  he  more 
than  made  up  in  flexibility  of  imagination.  His 
tales  of  derring-do  became  wilder  and  more  im- 
probable with  every  telling,  but  his  audiences  had 
seen  for  themselves  and  were  in  no  mood  to  doubt. 
He  was,  figuratively  speaking,  handed  around  on 
a  silver  platter  and  the  girls  of  the  society  set  were 
frankly  envious  of  Imogene. 

There  was  little  secret  to  the  fact  that  Imogene 
had  engaged  herself  to  Elias  for  better  or  worse, 
richer  or  poorer.  Whereupon  hero-worshipping 
Society  adopted  him.  He  joined  the  exclusive 
First  African  M.  E.  Church  and  became  a  member 
of  The  Sons  &  Daughters  of  I  Will  Arise.  He 
was  wined  copiously  and  dined  frequently.  It 
was  a  unique  experience  and  he  was  not  one  to  shun 
the  spotlight  at  this  late  date  of  his  hitherto  back- 
stage life. 

The  business  of  The  Pinetop  Roller  Pressing  Club 
picked  up  overnight,  and  Elias,  who  handled  the 
administrative  end,  was  kept  busy.  His  evenings 
were  spent  in  the  clinging  arms  of  the  delectable 
Imogene,  who,  by  day,  was  nurse  for  three  very 
young  scions  of  a  leading  white  folks  family.  They 
planned  rosily  for  the  future :  Imogene  was  to  in- 
terest the  quality  folks  in  The  Pinetop  Roller 
Pressing  Club,  the  business  was  to  expand,  move 
into  larger  quarters,  have  a  red  and  white  sign 
painted,  install  a  De  Haven  steam  presser  and.  .  .  . 

It  was  after  dinner  at  the  Carter  homestead  on 
the  night  of  the  Fourth  day  after  the  rescue  that 
something  came  up  casually  to  disturb  Elias  Rush's 


104  POLISHED  EBONY 

blissful  serenity.  Clarence  was  puffing  away  at 
a  rank  pipe,  Elias  dry-smoking  a  two-fer  cheroot 
and  Imogene  nestling  at  his  side.  Elias  had  com- 
pleted a  vivid  recital  of  a  fictitious  experience  in 
the  course  of  which  he  had  valiantly  saved  the  life 
of  a  certain  Colonel  Ransome  of  Dothan.  Imogene 
pressed  the  hand  of  her  hero  and  Clarence  nodded 
his  bullet  head  approvingly. 

"  That's  fine,  'Lias ;  that's  fine.  An'  how  'bout 
them  young  bucks  down  to  Dothan:  did  you  ever 
have  any  trouble  with  them?  " 

"  Meanin'  de  men,  Cla'nce?  " 

"  Meanin'  that." 

Elias  laughed  lightly.  "  Sho'  nuff ,  now,  Cla'nce : 
vou  ain't  s'posin'  I'd  go  'round  fightin'  wid  no  men, 
is  you?  " 

"  You  is  little  — " 

"Li'l  an'  loud;  da's  me,  Cla'nce.  Li'l  an'  loud! 
They  ain't  none  of  them  niggers  down  to  Dothan 
ast  fo'  none  of  my  game  sencst  de  day  me  an'  Scipio 
Barrow  mixed  it  up." 

"  How  come  'bout  that?  " 

"  Me  an'  Scipio  was  a-shootin'  high  dice  an'  they 
was  plenty  niggers  'round  watchin'.  Come  Scipio 
shoot  a  'leven  an'  I  tickle  a  twelve.  Den  he  mouth 
somthin'  'bout  I  ain't  roll  'em  honest.  After 
dat  .  .  ."  he  paused  dramatically. 

"Yeh,  Honey;  yeh?  What  happen  then?" 
breathed  Imogene. 

"Well,  I'se  heah,  ain't  I?  An'  after  Scipio  git 
out  de  horspital  he  ain't  bother  wid  me  much." 

"  Was  he  bigger'n  you?  " 

"  Bigger?  Cla'nce,  jes'  as  sho'  as  hell's  a  mouse- 
trap dat  nigger  was  so  big  I  had  to  jump  plumb 


THE  AMATEUR  HERO  105 

off  en  de  groun'  to  hit  him.  I  jes'  ain't  fool  wid 
nobody  ain't  twice  my  size.  I  skeered  I  might  kill 
'em  by  hittin'  too  hard.  I'se  small,  Cla'nce,  but 
I'se  wiry  —  I'se  pow'ful  wiry." 

"  I'm  plumb  glad  to  hear  you  is  a  fighter,  'Lias, 
'cause  me  an'  Imigene  was  discussin'  'bout  tomor- 
row bein'  payday  out  to  the  Madoc  mines." 

"  How  come  I  interest'  in  dat  ?  " 

"They's  a  man  out  there  by  the  name  Cunjer 
Bill  Johnson,  an'  me  an'  Imigene  was  kinder  scared 
that  when  Cunjer  Bill  foun'  out  'bout  you  an'  Imi- 
gene lovin'  each  other.  .  .  ." 

Elias  Rush  experienced  a  sudden  sickening 
sinking  sensation  in  the  region  of  the  midriff. 
"  Whut  disyer  Cunjer  Bill  pusson  got  to  do  wid 
Imigene?  " 

"Nothin'!"  she  negatived  tartly:  "Big  ol' 
brute!" 

"  Big  man?  " 

"  More'n  six  feet,"  confided  Clarence  cheerfully, 
"  an'  a  pow'ful  bad  man.  He's  plumb  jealous  of 
Imigene." 

"You  been  'gage'  to  him,  Imigene?"  questioned 
her  fiancee  pointedly. 

"  Me?  Him?  I  ain't  never  have  nothin'  tall  to 
do  with  no  such  trash." 

"  Den  how  come  him  to  git  sore  wid  me?  " 

"  'Cause  since  he's  been  lovin'  Imigene  they  ain't 
no  other  man  hereabouts  dared  fool  with  her. 
They's  all  scared  of  Cunjer  Bill." 

"  He's  dat  bad?  " 

"  Worser."  Clarence  gazed  at  his  prospective 
brother-in-law  sharply.  "  You  ain't  scared  of  him, 
is  you,  'Lias?  " 


106  POLISHED  K 

Elias  Rush  laughed  a  white,  sickly  laugh. 
"  Skeered?  Me?  I  ain't  skeered  of  but  one  t'ing, 
Cla'nce,  an'  dat  is  ef  dat  nigger  monkeys  wid  me 
I'll  be  'rested  fo'  manslaughter.  Da's  all  what  7 
is  skeered  of." 

"  He's  a  pow'ful  big  man,  'Lias." 

"  De  bigger  dey  is  de  better  de  meat.  An'  'sides 
—  mebbe  he  won't  come  to  town." 

"  He  always  comes  to  town  paydays,"  was  the 
cheerful  response.  "  Jus'  to  see  if  any  other  man 
been  fool  'nough  to  been  co'tin'  Imigene." 

Night  brought  little  sleep  to  Elias  Rush.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  delirious  four  days  he  regretted 
that  he  had  allowed  his  tongue  to  keep  step  with 
his  imagination.  By  dint  of  much  high  class  lying 
he  had  builded  for  himself  a  reputation  of  cham- 
pion all-'round  hero  and  untamed  bad  man.  Clar- 
ence and  Imogene  and  Lawyer  Evans  Chew  and 
Dr.  Vivian  Simmons  and  Florian  Slappey  and 
Rev'end  Plato  Tubb  and  all  of  the  other  men  of 
parts  in  the  community  knew  perfectly  well  that 
the  elimination  of  the  formidable  Cunjer  Bill  John- 
son would  be  a  mere  incident  in  the  day's  work  of 
Eljas  Rush. 

The  trouble  was  that  Cunjer  Bill  Johnson  didn't 
know  it! 

Chances  were  Cunjer  Bill  would  come  to  town, 
seek  Imogene,  and  learn  from  her  disdainful  and 
vitriolic  lips  the  tale  of  the  newly  arisen  Man  of 
the  Hour.  Whereupon  Cunjer  Bill  Johnson,  ignor- 
ant of  his  danger,  would  camp  on  the  trail  of  the 
aforesaid  hero,  seeking  to  quaff  of  his  heart's  blood. 
Elias  was  sickeningly  fearful  of  the  prospect. 

He  spent  a  weary,  floor-walking  night.     The  fol- 


THE  AMATEUR  HERO  107 

lowing  morning  Pinetop  Roller,  his  pal  and  part- 
ner, commented  upon  his  haggardness.  Then  Pine- 
top  went  out  to  collect  suits  in  need  of  pressing 
and  Elias  was  left  alone  in  the  little  office.  He 
wondered  at  what  time  they  paid  off  out  at  Madoc 
and  how  long  it  would  take  Cunjer  Bill  to  reach 
town,  and  — 

"  Mornin',  Mister  Rush." 

At  the  cool  suavity  of  the  voice  Elias  jumped  as 
though  he  had  been  shot.  Then,  as  he  recognized 
his  visitor,  he  smiled  a  weak  smile.  "  Mawnin', 
Mistuh  Chew." 

"  How's  the  pressing  business  this  morning?  " 

"  Tol'able.     How's  de  law  business?  " 

"  De  trop.  Very  de  trop,  I  might  say.  I  wanted 
you  to  send  around  to  Mrs.  Chew  for  a  suit  of 
mine.  Have  it  pressed  before  night,  will  you,  Mis- 
tuh Rush?" 

"Sho'  will.  I  — I  — say,  Mistuh  Chew;  what 
you  know  'bout  disyer  Cunjer  Bill  Johnson  nig- 
ger? " 

Lawyer  Chew  chk-chk'd  and  shook  his  head  hope- 
lessly. "  Bad  egg,  Mister  Rush ;  a  real  bad  egg." 

"  I  mean — 'bout — 'bout  him  an'  Iinigene?" 

"  He's  pow'ful  jealous  of  Imigene,  Mistuh  Rush. 
I  hope  you  and  Mister  Johnson  ain't  calc'lating  on 
fightin'  over  her?  " 

"  We  ain't,''  answered  Elias  miserably.  "  Mebbe 
so  he  is,  but  we  ain't  —  sho'  nuff ." 

"  He's  a  bad  customer,  Mistuh  Rush ;  a  very  bad 
customer." 

Elias  Rush  produced  a  ten-cent  cigar  and  stuck 
it  in  the  face  of  Lawyer  Evans  Chew :  "  Set  dowrn 
an'  tell  me  somthin'  'bout  disyer  Cunjer  Bill  John- 


108  POLISHED  EBONY 

son,  Mistuh  Chew  —  set  down  an'  tell  me  somthin' 
'bout  him.     F'rinstance:  do  he  skeer  easy?  " 
Lawyer  Evans  Chew  sat  down. 

Insofar  as  Cunjer  Bill  Johnson  was  concerned, 
things  happened  according  to  schedule. 

He  checked  out  at  the  tipple-house  at  noon,  made 
his  way  to  the  marble  showers  which  the  Madoc 
Mining  Company  provides  for  its  negro  employe's, 
and  his  Herculean  physique  glistened  under  the 
chilly  spray. 

He  was  a  massive  man:  broad  and  brawny,  a 
clear  generation  behind  the  girl  of  his  heart's 
choice  in  the  matter  of  evolution.  He  smiled  cheer- 
ily with  his  fellow-workers,  but  once  he  stepped  on 
a  bit  of  wire  and  the  expression  which  momentarily 
disfigured  his  face  wasn't  at  all  pleasant.  Fortu- 
nately for  his  own  peace  of  mind,  Elias  Rush  was 
not  there  to  see. 

Cunjer  Bill  left  the  shower-room,  dried  off  with 
a  fresh  Turkish  towel  —  also  furnished  gratis  by 
the  company  —  dressed  in  the  Sunday -go-to-meet- 
in's  which  had  been  hanging  in  his  locker  for  a 
fortnight,  presented  his  tag  at  the  pay  window,  and 
was  handed  fifty-eight  dollars  for  two  weeks'  work. 
Cunjer  Bill  was  an  excellent  ore  mucker. 

At  three  o'clock  he  boarded  the  Accommodation 
for  the  city  and  at  five  he  was  at  Sally  Crouch's 
Cozy  Home  Hotel  for  Coloured  and  comfortably 
installed  in  one  of  her  best  rooms.  An  hour  later 
he  had  purchased  an  almost-silver  comb-brush-and- 
mirror  set  in  a  plush  case,  secured  a  shoe  shine  and 
was  on  his  way  to  the  domicile  of  his  lady  love. 

Beverend  Plato  Tubb  stopped  him  en  route  and 


THE  AMATEUR  HERO  109 

gossiped  fussily  about  things  in  general,  and  when 
Cunjer  Bill  would  have  unceremoniously  pulled 
away,  the  Rev'end  Plato  compelled  his  interest  by 
mention  of  Imogene.  Then  he  tactfully  and  glee- 
fully proceeded  to  tell  Cunjer  Bill  of  Imogene's 
near-drowning  and  of  her  subsequent  engagement 
to  one,  Elias  Rush.  Cunjer  Bill  jerked  away. 

"  Where  you  going? "  inquired  the  Rev'end 
Tubb. 

"  Gwine  see  Imigene  an'  heah  dis  fumadiddles 
f'um  her  own  lips." 

Which  is  exactly  what  he  did.  He  heard  it  not 
once  or  twice,  but  several  times ;  and  Elias  did  not 
lose  in  the  telling.  She  elaborated  on  his  heroism 
and  painted  him  a  fire-eater  and  a  man-killer, 
thereby  sowing  the  seeds  of  doubt  in  the  breast  of 
Cunjer  Bill.  She  supplied  details  of  the  rescue 
which  had  been  manufactured  by  much  repetition 
since  the  previous  Sunday  afternoon. 

Reverend  Plato  Tubb  happened  by ;  his  sensation- 
loving  soul  impelling  him  to  the  scene  of  impending 
drama.  Later,  Clarence  came  in.  With  him  were 
Lawyer  Chew  and  a  friend. 

And  it  was  into  the  midst  of  this  gathering  that 
the  unsuspecting  and  terrified  Elias  Rush,  seeking 
sanctuary  from  the  hobgoblin  Cunjer  Bill,  stepped. 

"  Mister  Rush,"  said  Imogene  sweetly,  "  I  want 
you  to  meet  my  frien',  Mister  Johnson.  Mister 
Johnson,  meet  my  fiansay." 

Elias's  face  was  pathetic.  He  stood  in  his  tracks, 
back  against  the  door,  eyes  rolling  wildly  and  show- 
ing white.  Cunjer  Bill  loomed  like  a  mountain 
with  a  thundercloud  crest.  And  his  voice  rumblod  : 
"  So  dis  de  man  whut  done  me  dirt,  huh?  " 


110  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  Mister  Johnson,"  broke  in  Iniogene  sharply, 
"  remember  where  you  is  at !  " 

"  I  'members  whar  dis  li'l  shrimp  is  at,"  came 
the  menacing  roar.  Then  he  turned  his  attention 
to  the  terrified  Rush.  "  You  know  what  I  is  got  a 
good  min'  to  do?" 

No  answer  from  the  petrified  Elias,  whose  wide- 
open  eyes  were  now  fastened  blankly  on  the  other's 
face.  He  hoped  vaguely  that  Cunjer  Bill  was  not 
a  fast  runner. 

"  Y'ain'  answer  me,  huh?  Well,  whut  I  is  got 
a  good  min'  to  do  to  you  is  to  sqush  you  like  dat  — 
see?"  and  he  pressed  thumb  and  forefinger  to- 
gether. "  I  got  a  good  min'.  .  .  ." 

Lawyer  Chew  bustled  forward  officiously. 
"  Now,  now,  Brother  Johnson  —  this  ain't  neither 
the  time  nor  the  place.  .  ." 

"Y'all  lay  off  of  dis,  Lawyer  Chew.  It  am' 
healthy  fo'  no  man  to  combat  wiv  me  w'en  I'se  mad 
—  an'  I'se  plumb  mad  now.  Ef  'twas  a  he-man 
cut  me  out.  .  .  .  But  a  shrimp  like  dis !  Huh !  " 

"I  woul'n't  go  foolin'  with  him,  Cunjer  Bill," 
warned  Clarence.  "  He's  a  powerful  bad  nigger." 

Cunjer  Bill  looked  at  Elias  and  then  at  Clar- 
ence. There  was  truth  reflected  in  Clarence's  face, 
his  words  were  saturated  with  the  nuance  of  con- 
viction. Cunjer  Bill  wondered  whether  he  might 
not  be  mistaken.  Maybe  Elias  was  a  real  killer: 
and  he  knew  that  all  the  brawn  in  creation  is  not 
proof  against  a  bullet.  Still  —  Elias  didn't  look 
bad,  and  —  doubtful  as  he  had  become  —  Cunjer 
Bill  was  not  ready  to  capitulate. 

"Him?"  he  muttered  doubtfully.  "Dat  li'l 
speck  o'  nothin'  bad?  I  got  half  a  min'.  .  .  ." 


.*  " 

j  £ 


2   = 


2    *> 


X    be 

•-"  "s 

V      -f. 


THE  AMATEUR  HERO  111 

Cold,  clammy  terror  gripped  Elias  Rush.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  knew  physical  fear. 
And  also,  for  the  first  time  in  his  sequestered  life, 
he  experienced  the  courage  of  a  cornered  rat.  He 
opened  parched  lips  —  closed  them  again  —  then 
croaked  a  warning : 

"  Keep  yo'  hands  off  en  me !  " 

"  I  reckon."  Cunjer  Bill  took  a  tentative  step 
forward :  "  I'll  jes'  sqush  you !  " 

"  Careful,  Brother  Johnson,"  warned  the  Rev'- 
end  Plato,  "  Brother  Rush's  gittin'  mad." 

Cunjer  Bill  paused.  He  sensed  that  the  fear  of 
the  spectators  was  fear  for,  and  not  o/,  him.  He 
advanced  another  step  in  the  direction  of  his  quiv- 
ering rival. 

Elias's  voice  rose  high  with  hysteria :  "  Folks, 
yo'-all  better  keep  him  off  en  me !  I  —  I  —  gwine 
kill  him ! " 

He  was  startled  by  his  own  words.  The  others 
were  not.  Even  Cunjer  Bill  was  not  startled.  He 
began  to  fear  that  he  had  undertaken  a  job  which 
common-sense  demanded  that  he  abandon.  He  got 
the  idea  that  Elias  was  fighting  to  restrain  himself. 
Rush,  nerves  raw,  rattled  on  hysterically  — 

"  I  ain'  got  nothin'  ag'in  you,  Cunjer  Bill.  But 
sho's  you  come  nigh  me  I'll  kill  you.  .  .  .  Keep  'ira 
offen  me,  folks.  I  ain't  askin'  f o'  no  rucus !  Keep 
'im  offen  me !  " 

Evans  Chew  took  the  arm  of  Cunjer  Bill.  And 
this  time  his  peace  proposals  met  with  no  opposi- 
tion. "  Better  come  away,  Bill.  He's  awful  bad, 
that  Rush  feller.  You  is  li'ble  to  get  him  angry 
an'  he's  a  killer,  he  is.  Got  a  bad  record  down  to 
Dothan.  Packs  a  gun  an'  a  knife,  both.'' 


112  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  Ef  I  had  a  gun,"  temporized  the  rapidly  sub- 
siding Cunjer  Bill. 

"  But  you  ain't.  Better  come  with  me  befo' 
there's  bloodshed." 

Thoroughly  cowed,  grumbling  defiance  to  camou« 
flage  the  fear  which  had  been  born  in  his  heart, 
Cunjer  Bill  Johnson  gladly  allowed  Evans  Chew 
to  convoy  him  into  the  alley.  Once  there  the  law- 
yer breathed  a  sigh  of  infinite  relief. 

"  Brother  Johnson,"  he  proclaimed  convincingly, 
"  you  sure  done  had  one  terrible  narrow  escape." 

"  Dat  — dat  li'l  shrimp  don't  look  lak  no  killer." 

"You  mean  to  tell  me,  Brother  Johnson,  that 
noj»ody  warned  you  he  was  bad  medicine?  " 

"  Yeh,  dey  warn  me.     But  he  ain'  look  bad." 

"  Ain't  you  see  it  in  his  eye?  He  wasn't  more'n 
ten  seconds  from  killin'  you.  An'  I  ain't  so  sure 
he  ain't  countin'  on  it  yet.  Take  my  adwice  an' 
git  out  of  town  befo'  he  gets  a  good  chancst  at  you 
in  the  open." 

"  Whut  c'an  he  do  to  me,  huh?  " 

"  He  ain't  never  missed  a  man  yet.  He's  plumb 
bad.  They  re'lly  ain't  but  two  things  you  can  do." 

"An'  dem  is?" 

"  Get  out  of  town  or  put  him  under  a  peace 
bond." 

"  Whut  dat  peace  bon'  business?  " 

"Make  a  afterdavit  that  he  threatened  to  kill 
you  an'  then  swear  out  a  warrant.  They'll  'rest 
him  an'  put  him  under  bond  to  keep  the  peace 
ipso  facto." 

"  How  dat  ipso  facto  t'ing  'feet  me?  " 

"  When  he's  under  a  peace  bond,"  explained  the 


THE  AMATEUR  HERO  113 

attorney  and  counsellor,  "  the  law  don't  allow  him 
to  kill  nobody!" 

"  Dat  so?  How  much  it  cost  me  to  git  dat  peace 
bond  ag'in  him?  " 

"  My  fee  in  the  matter  will  be  twenty-five  dol- 
lars." 

"An'  you  t'ink  ef  I  don't  git  it  he'll  plug  me?" 

"  I  do.     He's  an  awful  bad  nigger." 

"  A'right,"  and  Cunjer  Bill  drew  a  deep  breath. 
"  I  reckon  it's  cheap  at  dat,  ain't  it?  " 

"  It  is,"  agreed  Lawyer  Evans  Chew.  "  It's  pow'- 
ful  lucky  you  didn't  temp'  him  no  further,  'cause 
if  you  had  you'd  of  been  around  a  heap  of  flowers 
an'  soft  music  an'  you  woul'n't  of  knowed  nothin' 
about  it." 

The  following  morning  Elias  Rush  found  an 
athletic-appearing  white  man  waiting  for  him  at 
the  door  of  The  Pinetop  Roller  Pressing  Club. 

"Are  you  Elias  Rush?" 

"  Yassuh." 

«  Come  with  me." 

«  Whar  to?  " 

"  I  have  a  warrant  for  your  arrest  on  peace  bond 
proceedings." 

"Fo'me?" 

"  Yes,  for  you.     Come  along." 

"  Jes'  a  minnit,  Cap'n.  Who  swear  out  dat  war- 
rant?" 

"William  Johnson,  also  known  as  Cunjer  Bill 
Johnson." 

Elias  Rush  went.  At  the  magistrate's  office  he 
found  Cunjer  Bill  Johnson  under  the  wing  of 


114  POLISHED  EBONY 

Lawyer  Evans  Chew.  Under  Chew's  questioning 
Cunjer  Bill  made  out  an  excellent  bill  of  causes 
why  Elias  Rush  should  be  placed  under  a  cash 
bond  of  two  hundred  dollars  to  keep  the  peace. 
And  finally  the  magistrate  turned  to  Rush. 

"Elias  Rush?" 

"  Yassuh,  Jedge ;  da's  me." 

"  What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?  " 

"Nothin',  Jedge;  nothin'  tall." 

"  Did  you  threaten  this  man?  " 

"Reckon  I  did,  Jedge."  Out  of  the  corner  of 
his  eye  Rush  glimpsed  the  adored  Imogene  in  a 
corner  of  the  tiny  courtroom.  "  Reckon  I  kinder 
mentioned  I  might  hu't  'im  ef  he  gallivanted  'round 
wid  me." 

"  You  threatened  him  with  bodily  injury?  " 

"  Reckon  da's  de  onlies'  kin'  ob  injury  he'd  on- 
derstan',  ain't  it?  " 

"  Can  you  state  any  good  and  sufficient  reasons 
why  you  should  not  be  placed  under  bond  to  main- 
tain the  peace  and  dignity  of  the  State,  and  espe- 
cially against  the  person  of  William  Johnson,  also 
known  as  Cunjer  Bill  Johnson?  " 

"  Guess  dey  ain'  no  reason  tall,  Jedge ;  'cause  if 
I  ain't  put  under  dat  bon'  I'se  li'ble  to  sqiish  dat 
big  lummix  an'  I  ain't  anxious  to  do  no  time  fo' 
no  sech  wuthless,  no-'count  — " 

"That'll  do,  Rush."  The  magistrate  scribbled 
swiftly  on  a  legal  form.  "  When  can  you  raise  a 
cash  bond  of  two  hundred  dollars?  " 

With  easy  nonchalance  Elias  Rush  produced 
from  his  battered  wallet  ten  twenty-dollar  bills. 
"  Ef  I  don't  beat  dat  feller  up,  Jedge,  will  I  git  dis 
money  back  ag'in?  " 


THE    stfATEUR  HERO  115 

The  magistrate  smiled.  "  At  the  end  of  six 
months  —  if  you  keep  the  peace." 

With  Imogene  on  his  arm  —  Imogene  atremble 
with  pride  and  love  —  Elias  Rush  swaggered  from 
the  courtroom.  He  waited  on  the  corner  and  inter- 
cepted Cunjer  Bill. 

"Mistuh  Cunjer  Bill,"  orated  the  little  negro: 
"  You  is  wiser'n  you  look.  Whut  you  is  jes'  done 
saves  yo'  life.  Ef  you  hadn't  of  stopped  me  by 
law  from  killin'  you,  you  would  of  been  a  daid 
nigger  befo'  night.  Now  git  outen  my  path :  I'se 
walkin'  wid  my  lady  frien'  an'  I  don't  wanna  be 
bothered  wid  no  trash !  " 

The  following  morning  Lawyer  Evans  Chew 
again  dropped  into  The  Pinetop  Roller  Pressing 
Club.  Elias  Rush  was  behind  the  counter  whis- 
tling happily. 

"  Mornin',  Brother  Rush." 

"  Mawnin',  Lawyer  Chew." 

"  It  certainly  worked,  didn't  it?  " 

"  It  done  dat,  sho'  nuff." 

"Cunjer  Bill's  done  left  town:  scared  stiff. 
Ain't  any  chance  of  his  bothering  you  again." 

Rush  chuckled.  "  An'  I'se  boun'  by  law  not 
to  hu't  him.  Dat  was  a  swell  scheme,  Brother 
Chew." 

"  I  got  some  pretty  good  ideas,  Brother  Rush. 
'Course,  I  had  to  talk  mighty  convincin'  to  make 
him  believe  you  meant  to  kill  him.  An'  now  there's 
a  little  matter  .  .  ."  He  hesitated  delicately. 

Elias  Rush  reached  into  a  drawer  from  which 
he  extracted  twenty-five  dollars.  This  he  handed 
to  Lawyer  Evans  Chew :  "  Da's  yo'  fee  fo'  makin' 


116  POLISHED  EBONY 

Cunjer  Bill  git  out  dat  peace  bon'  ag'inst  me,  an'," 
he  grinned  broadly,  "  I  reckon  you  c'n  put  some  ob 
dat  into  a  weddin'  present.  Me  an'  Imigene  is 
gwine  git  married  nex'  Sunday !  " 


TEMPUS  FUGITS 


TEMPUS  FUGITS 

he  comes! » 

The  crowd  pressed  close  against  the  gates 
of  the  coloured  exit  of  the  Terminal  Sta- 
tion, straining  eyes  into  the  gloom  of  the  passage- 
way. 

"  Tha's  him :  tha's  Spider!  " 

"  Yeh  —  tha's  him ;  sho'  nuff !  " 

"Hey!     Yo'  Spider!" 

The  dapper  little  negro  grinned  and  waved  his 
be-je welled  hands  to  the  reception  committee.  He 
tried  to  appear  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  his 
sartorial  appearance  was  creating  a  furore  —  and 
failed  miserably.  He  was  glad  now  that  he  had 
bedecked  himself  in  his  very  newest  suit :  a  pearl 
grey  serge  of  ultra  English  cut.  His  vest  was  a 
rich  cream  exquisitely  flowered  in  crimson.  His 
tie  was  scarlet,  his  sox  vermilion.  The  long- 
visored  cap,  insignia  of  his  profession,  perched 
jauntily  on  the  side  of  his  head.  His  long-toed 
tan  shoes  glowed  in  the  light  of  the  electric  bulbs. 

He  mounted  the  steps  two  at  a  time,  every  move 
a  symphony.  Behind  him  clambered  two  red- 
capped  station  porters,  each  lugging  a  heavy  suit- 
case. The  exit  gates  rolled  back  and  Spider  Haw- 
kins, jockey,  found  himself  smothered  in  the  ample 
maternal  bosom. 

"  Spider  —  honey !  Is  yo'  come  home  to  yo'  ol' 
Mammy?  Is  yo'  r'illy,  truly  heah,  Spider?  " 

119 


120  POLISHED  EBONY 

The  little  negro  laughed  gaily  and  implanted  a 
fervid  smack  on  his  mother's  lips.  He  held  her  at 
arm's  length  with  hands  in  which  there  was  a 
surprising  strength  and  allowed  his  mouth  to  ex- 
pand into  a  happy,  prideful  grin. 

"  Golly!  Mom,  yo'  shuah  is  growed.  An'  dressed 
up !  "  He  faced  the  welcoming  crowd :  "  On  the 
level,  folks,  ain't  she  the  bestest  lookin'  'ooman 
heah?  Ain't  she,  now?  " 

"Aw,  Spider,  yo'  quit.  Yo'  allers  wras  teasin' 
with  yo'  ol'  Mammy.  Law',  boy,  yo'  is  the  dress- 
inest  man ! " 

Spider  shrugged.  "  Jes'  some  ol'  clothes  I  hap- 
pen' to  dig  up  ontray  noo.  It  ain't  pay  wearin'  no 
r'il  good  clothes  on  the  train."  He  dug  into  the 
pocket  of  the  peacock  vest  and  extracted  two  quar- 
ters which  he  placed  in  the  eagerly  outstretched 
hands  of  his  attending  porters.  He  did  it  grandly, 
with  the  air  of  one  to  the  manner  born.  "  Yo'  boys 
run  buy  yo'selfs  some  ice  cream  sodas."  Then,  to 
the  crowd :  "  Thisyer  shuah  gives  me  the  hoine- 
cominest  feelin'.  .  .  ." 

They  pressed  closer  about  him,  these  representa- 
tives of  the  city's  very  selectest  coloured  social 
circle.  Society  was  doing  him  proud.  There  was 
the  Rev'end  Plato  Tubb  of  the  First  African  M.  E. 
Church  and  Lawyer  Evans  Chew  and  Dr.  Vivian 
Simmons  and  the  immaculate  Florian  Slappey,  his 
own  tailored  pre-eminence  unselfishly  displayed 
against  the  greater  perfections  of  his  friend.  And 
there  was  Simeon  Broughton,  and  Pearl,  his  ra- 
diant wife;  and  Tempus  Attucks  and  Charity  Chism 
and  —  teetering  forlornly  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
crowd,  glum  of  expression  and  diffident  of  manner 


TEMPUS  FUGITS  121 

—  Pliny  Driver,  boyhood  chum  of  the  returning 
Spider. 

Spider  spied  him  and  hurled  his  ninety-three 
pounds  through  the  crowd.  He  seized  the  gloomy 
Pliny  by  the  shoulders  and  shook  him  delightedly. 
"  Yo'  Pliny!  I'm  dawg'd  ef  this  don't  seem  like 
ol'  times  shuah  miff .  Sa-a-ay !  ain't  yo'  got  nothin' 
tall  to  reemark?  " 

"  Glad  to  see  yo',"  mumbled  Pliny  dolefully. 
"  Huh !     Yo'  look  glad,  yo'  does  —  not.     Looks 
like  yo'  jes'  been  put  out  the  Lodge  'cause  they's 
skeered  yo'  benumficiary  gwine  c'lect  yo'   insur- 
ance." 

"  They  ain't  nothin'  the  matter  with  me,  Spider." 
"  Then  yo'  face  needs  a  operation  fo'  the  removal 
of  su'plus  expression.     That  mug  of  you'rn'd  make 
a  stake  hawss  fall  down  in  the  homestretch." 

"  Hmph !  Spider  —  yo'  don'  know  nothin'! 
That's  all  —  yo'  don'  know  nothin'  tall." 

Spider  poked  his  friend  playfully  in  the  ribs. 
"Mebbe  not,  son;  but  I'se  shuah  gwine  fin'  out." 

Mother  Hawkins  had  stifled  the  loud  protests  of 
a  thrifty  soul  and  chartered  a  seven-passenger  car 
for  the  child  of , her  bosom.  She  and  Spider  and 
Pliny  occupied  the  big  tonneau  seat :  Lawyer  Chew 
and  the  Rev'end  Tubb  balanced  precariously  on  the 
folding  chairs  designed  for  the  daring  sixth  and 
seventh  passengers.  Charity  Chism,  her  eyes  every- 
where save  on  the  mournful  face  of  the  dolorous 
Pliny,  climbed  in  beside  Clarence  Carter,  the 
chauffeur  whose  generous  cutrates  had  made  the 
chartering  possible. 

As  the  car  rolled  down  the  smooth  paving  of  the 
avenue  toward  the  glaring  lights  and  early  evening 


122  POLISHED  EBONY 

bustle  of  the  big,  prosperous  southern  city,  Spider 
Hawkins  leaned  luxuriously  back  against  the  cush- 
ions and  gave  himself  over  to  a  thorough  enjoy- 
ment of  the  moment. 

For  the  first  time  in  two  years,  Spider  was  at 
home.  He  envisioned  himself  as  he  had  been:  a 
spirited,  mischievous  kid  —  a  youngster  whose  sta- 
ture he  had  never  outgrown.  Every  street-corner, 
every  building,  was  chock-full  of  joyful  memory. 
The  soft,  balmy  breeze  floated  in  through  the  tilted 
windshield  and  fanned  his  happy  face. 

Spider  was  glad  to  be  home :  glad  to  be  away  — 
even  for  so  short  a  time  as  a  month  —  from  the 
odour  of  the  stables,  the  reek  of  the  tack  rooms, 
the  sight  of  quivering  thoroughbreds,  the  clang  of 
the  bell  in  the  judges'  stand,  the  raucous  yodle  of 
the  exquisitely  profane  starter.  Latonia,  Havre  de 
Grace,  Sheepshead,  Saratoga  —  they  were  wine  in 
the  head  of  Spider  Hawkins,  jockey.  But  just  now 
he  was  suffering  from  a  surfeit  and  wanted  a  rest. 
And  home  he  had  come  —  home  with  a  roll  of 
money  which  would  have  caused  serious  inconven- 
ience to  an  elephant's  esophagus,  a  wardrobe  des- 
tined to  be  vainly  imitated  by  the  young  bloods  for 
two  years,  a  perennial  good  nature  and  a  general 
warmness  of  the  heart  toward  the  community 
which  so  obviously  adored  him. 

The  four-room  manse  of  his  childhood  had  been 
fittingly  decorated  for  the  occasion.  A  picture 
of  himself  in  riding  silks  had  been  garnished  with 
goldenrod.  Prohibition  punch  filled  a  large,  near- 
cut-glass  bowl;  tasty  crackers  were  piled  high. 
There  were  huge  dishes  of  persimmons  and  chin- 
quapins. Parlour,  dining-room,  veranda  and  tiny 


TEMPUS  FUGITS  123 

front  yard  were  crowded  with  the  quality  of  the 
city's  coloured  folks,  vieing  with  one  another  in 
homage  to  Jockey  Spider  Hawkins. 

The  air  was  permeated  with  infectious  hilarity. 
Spider,  fairly  bubbling  over  with  happiness,  alter- 
nately teased  his  portly,  good-natured  mother  and 
regaled  the  crowd  with  new  and  funny  stories,  in- 
imitably told.  Within  ten  minutes  he  had  them 
all  in  paroxysms  of  laughter. 

All  save  Pliny  Driver.  Pliny  gloomed  alone  in 
a  corner  of  the  parlour,  his  eyes  focussed  tirelessly 
on  the  radiant  Charity  Chism  and  the  ingratiating, 
oily-smiling  Tempus  Attucks  who  hovered  about 
her  —  now  serving  a  clinking  punch,  now  a  tooth- 
some cracker:  whispering  softly  into  her  dainty 
ear.  .  .  .  Murder  was  in  Pliny's  heart. 

But  if  Pliny  dripped  sadness,  Spider  more  than 
evened  things  up.  The  little  jockey  fairly  sizzled 
with  good  nature.  He  effervesced  all  over  the 
room,  the  roving  centre  of  an  admiring  crowd. 
And  finally  he  was  cornered  by  a  group  of  men  un- 
der the  leadership  of  Lawyer  Evans  Chew  and  the 
talk  turned  to  shop  —  Spider's  shop. 

"  Guess  yo'  is  makin'  a  heap  of  money,  eh,  Spi- 
der? " 

«  Guess  I  is." 

"  Not  all  of  it  ridin',  either." 

"Meanin'  which?"  snapped  Spider  quickly,  as 
he  singled  out  his  interrogator  as  Tempus  Attucks. 
The  big,  blatantly  over-dressed  Tempus  hastened 
to  take  cover. 

"  Nothin'." 

"  Yeh  —  yo'  sho'  nuff  meant  sumpin',  Mistuh  At- 
tucks." 


124  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  Er  —  a-playin'  the  hawses :  that's  what  I 
meant." 

"  I  see." 

"  You  does  make  a  li'l  sumpin'  on  the  side  that- 
away,  ain't  it  so?  " 

"  I  reckon,"  murmured  Lawyer  Chew  enviously, 
"that  y'all  jockeys  git  a  heap  of  inside  info'ma- 
tion." 

"  Reckon  we  do,  ol'  spoht.  'Tain't  so  onnat'ral 
fo'  us  to  be  on  the  inside." 

"  An'  when  yo'  gets  a  tip  thataway,"  persisted 
Attucks,  "  yo'  most  gin'rally  plays  it?  " 

"  Most  gin'rally.     Ef  it  looks  good." 

"Ain't  got  nothin'  up  yo'  sleeve,  have  yo',  Spi- 
der? "  questioned  Chew. 

"  Pair  of  good  ridin'  arms." 

"  Meanin'  tips  like.  You  just  come  down  from 
Sarytoga  — " 

"  I'se  bettin'  he  knows  more'n  a  thing  or  two," 
insinuated  Tempus. 

"  Yo'  win,  Mistuh  Attucks."  Spider  turned  his 
attention  again  to  Evans  Chew :  "  Yeh !  I  sort 
of  reckon  I  know  of  a  r'il  good  thing  gwine  be 
pulled  no  later'n  Sat'dy." 

"  G'wan,  Spider.  .  .  ."  The  crowd  ganged 
closer.  "  Reckon  y'd  oughter  tell  us,  Spider.  We 
is  all  frien's  of  yourn.  .  .  ." 

Spider  laughed.  "  Yeh  —  an'  ef  I  was  to  spill 
y'all'd  be  jes'  fools  enough  to  go  bettin'.  Then 
come  th'  ol'  dawg  to  trail  the  fiel'  an'  I'd  git  the 
blame." 

"  Nossuh,  Spider;  that  ain't  so  a  tall.  Not  a  tall 
it  ain't." 

"Well.  .  .  ."     Spider    drew    a    deep    breath: 


TEMPUS  FUGITS  .  125 

"  Bet  y'all'd  even  be  fools  enough  to  b'lieve  me  ef 
I  was  to  say  a  r'il  long  shot  was  gwine  win  the  fo'th 
race  up  to  Saratoga  Sat'dy." 

"  Reckon  we  would,  Spider." 

"  Yassuh,  we  would  that.  Is  yo'  sayin'  it,  Spi- 
der? " 

"  Ise  warnin'  yo'  folks  they  ain't  no  long  shot 
that's  a  safe  bet." 

"  We'll  take  the  chance,  Spider,  ef  y'all  jes'  say 
yo'  think  they's  a  chancst.  Is  it  a  chancst?  " 

"  Ise  sayin'  they  is.  Co'se,  I  ain't  'sinuatin'  the 
race  is  crooked.  Don'  hahdly  reckon  that  kin' 
of  stuff  goes  no  mo'  on  fust  class  tracks  lak  whut 
I  ride  on.  But  they  ain't  no  tellin'  but  what  the 
owners  of  a  suttin  hawss  by  the  name  Laddie  Buck 
is  been  primin'  'im  fo'  a  killin'.  He  been  comin' 
in  ev'y  race  jes'  in  time  to  clutter  up  the  barrier 
fo'  the  next  one.  Slower'n  Jinuwary  m'lasses. 
Five  yeah  oP  an'  still  a  maiden.  Fo'th  race  Sat'day 
is  fo'  three-yeah-ol's  an'  upperds,  an'  they's  some 
class  showin'.  Laddie  Buck'll  go  to  the  post  any- 
whar  furn  thutty-  to  fifty-to-one." 

Lawyer  Chew  leaned  forward  earnestly.  "  That 
from  headquarters,  Spider?  " 

"  Might'  nigh." 

"  Yo'  reckon  it's  a  good  bet?  " 

"  It's  a  good  bet,"  quoth  the  trackwise  Spider, 
"  even  ef  yo'  lose." 

Mother  Hawkins  appeared  in  the  offing  and 
swooped  down  upon  the  executive  session,  dis^ 
persing  it  by  mass  tactics.  A  string-and-reed  or- 
chestra arrived  and  dancing  started.  At  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning  the  tired,  happy  crowd  dis- 
integrated. But  when  the  disconsolate  Pliny 


126  POLISHED  EBONY 

Driver  would  have  oozed  out  of  the  front  door, 
Spider  held  him. 

"  Hoi'  on  a  minnit,  Pliny.  I  wanna  make  talk 
with  yo'." 

"  Yo'  ain't  wanna  talk  with  me,  Spider.  I  ain't 
no  fittin'  cornp'ny  these  days." 

"  Reckon  I  is  took  a  chancst  befo',  Pliny.  Le's 
walk." 

Arm  in  arm  the  chums  stepped  out  into  the 
clear,  bracing  September  night, —  Pliny,  himself 
by  no  means  a  large  man,  looming  like  an  ebony 
giant  beside  the  diminutive  Spider. 

For  half  an  hour  they  walked  silently  southward. 
They  climbed  and  reached  the  crest  of  the  moun- 
tain on  which  the  city's  fashionable  residential 
colony  is  built :  reached  it  and  seated  themselves  on 
a  boulder  they  had  known  of  old  and  from  which 
they  could  gaze  down  upon  the  fire  and  smoke  of 
the  factories  which  justified  Birmingham's  exist- 
ence. Spider  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Golly !     It's  good  to  be  home." 

"Is  it,  now?" 

"  Yeh.  .  .  .  Say,  Pliny,  I  ain't  saw  yo'  so  happy 
sencst  yo'  ol'  man  tanned  yo'  britches  fo'  stealin' 
doughnuts  fuin  Sally  Crouch." 

"  Reason  is  'cause  I  ain't  so  happy,  Spider." 

"How  come?" 

"  Nev'  mind.  On'y  I  wisht  I  was  li'l  like  what 
yo'  is." 

"Hmph.  .  .  ." 

"  I'd  leave  heah  an'  be  a  jockey.  Anythin'  to  git 
away  fum  thisyer  town." 

"  What's  wrong  with  th'  town?  " 

"  Nothin'.     'Tis  jes'  folks." 


TEMPOS  FUGITS  127 

"  Coloured  folks?  " 

"Niggers!" 

"Name  which?" 

"  Name  Tempus  Attacks,  tha's  which." 

"  That  long,  tall,  shiny-colla'd,  greasy-smilin'  ol* 
sellin'-plater  what  was  hangin'  'round  Charity 
Chism  all  evenin'?  " 

"  Yo'  said  it." 

"  G'wan,  Pliny.  He  ain't  went  an'  cut  yo'  out 
with  Charity,  is  he?  " 

"  Not  no  surer  than  I'se  a  nigger  he  ain't." 

"  Chk!     How  come  that?  " 

"  He's  one  of  these  heah  slipp'y  talkers.  Says 
to  a  gal :  '  Nice  day  t'day ! '  an'  makes  it  soun' 
like  po'try  an'  a  perposal  of  marriage  all  in  one. 
He's  jes'  a  nat'ral-bohn  lover.  Swell  chancst  I  got 
ag'in  him :  me  wukin'  on  a  ice-wagon  an'  him  a 
broker." 

"Broker?     Him?" 

"  Tha's  what  he  calls  hisse'f.  Brokes  his  cli'nts : 
tha's  all  what  kin'  of  a  broker  he  is." 

"  How  he  make  his  livin'?  " 

"  Gamblin'." 

"  Yo'  wrong  sommares,"  declared  the  jockey  seri- 
ously. "  Onless  Charity  Chism  is  change  a  whole 
heap  she  woul'n't  stan'  fo'  no  fo'-flushin'  crap 
shooter." 

"  He  ain't  no  bone-tickler,"  came  the  gloomy  re- 
sponse. "  Him's  agent  fo'  Jackson  Ramsay's  gam- 
blin'  house." 

"The  lott'ry  man?" 

"  Him's  which.  On'y  they's  mo'  to  it  than  jes' 
bein'  a  agent.  The  p'lice  ain't  so  lib'ral  like  what 
they  use'  to  be.  They  kinder  down  on  Cap'n  Ram- 


128  POLISHED  EBONY 

say.  He's  op'ratin'  awful  close  to  the  chist  these 
days.  Y'see,  they  is  got  a  new  nimisipal  'ministra- 
tion." 

"  An'  they's  down  on  him?  " 

"  On  account  they  is  got  some  crusaders  'mongst 
the  coloured  folks.  Rev'end  Arlandas  Sdpsey 
what  pastorizes  the  Primitive  Baptis'  Chu'ch 
stahted  the  refawm  movement." 

"  To  refawm  all  the  coloured  folks  or  jes'  Tern- 
pus?  " 

"  Mostly  Tempus." 

"  'Bout  him,  then :  is  he  hones'?  " 

"  Yeh !  He's  always  hones' —  sometimes.  Fur 
as  I  c'n  see,  Spider,  that  they  Tempus  Attucks  is 
so  crooked  ef  he  swallied  a  nail  he'd  spit  up  a 
corkscrew.  'Co'se  it  ain't  always  good  business  fo' 
Tempus  to  be  crooked  an'  them  times  he's  straight." 

"  Jackson  Ramsay  useter  be  on  the  level." 

"  He  is  yit.  An'  he  woul'n't  stan'  for'  no  fuma- 
diddles  fum  Tempus  ef  he  knowed  it.  But  he  don't 
an'  they  ain't  no  way  of  provin'  up  on  him." 

"  How  come  the  coloured  folks  cain't  deal  d'rec' 
with  Cap'n  Ramsay?  " 

"  Skeered.  Sencst  the  p'lice  got  such  a  con- 
science, Spider,  they  an'  him  been  pow'ful  skeered. 
Ain't  hahdly  nobody  riskin'  goin'  to  the  Pool  an' 
Ginuwine  drawin's  'count  ef  the  place  git  raided 
it's  a  long  term  in  the  Big  Rock.  So  in  ev'y  col- 
oured section  Cap'n  Ramsay  is  got  a  agent  an'  all 
the  bettin'  is  done  th'oo  him." 

"  Cap'n  Ramsay  runs  a  hawss-racin'  pool,  too?  " 

"  Shuah's  yo'  bohn,  he  do.  Reg'lar  two  drawin's 
a  day  fo'  the  lott'ry  an'  his  hawss-pool  an'  some- 
times w'en  he's  pretty  shuah  they  ain't  gwine  be 


TEMP.US  FUGITS  129 

no  £'lice  intumfe'ence,  he  totes  out  his  crap  table. 
But  times  ain't  lak  what  they  was,  Spider.  Seems 
like  white  folks  ain't  want  niggers  gamblin'  a  tall. 
'Mostly  all  the  bettin'  what  is  goes  th'oo  Tempus: 
tha's  how  come  him  to  call  hisself  a  broker.  Got 
a  office  an'  all  that.  'Tain't  nothin'  but  camel- 
flage." 

"  An'  thisyer  Tempus  feller  done  took  yo'  gal 
away?  " 

"  Most  onti'ly.  Me'n  my  stiddy  job  with  the  ice- 
wagon  ain't  look  so-  good  longside  a  broker  with 
offices  in  the  Penny  Prudential  Bank  b'ildin'." 

Spider  Hawkins  gave  himself  over  to  several 
minutes  of  concentrated  thought.  He  was  worried 
by  his  friend's  abject  misery.  "  One  trouble  with 
yo',  Pliny,  is  the  face  what  yo'  wears  when  Tempus 
an'  Charity  is  in  sight." 

"  It's  the  on'y  face  what  I  got,  Spider." 

"  Yeh  .  .  .  but  that  ain't  no  call  to  make  yo'se'f 
look  like-  a  long  shot  with  a  broken  laig." 

«  Cain't  he'p  it." 

"  C'n,  too." 

"  Hmph !  Guess  yo'  don'  know  nothin'  'bout 
love,  Spider — 'bout  havin'  yo'  gal  loviii'  another 
feller.  Come  thataway  it's  like  the  stummick-ache 
—  yo'  jes'  nat'rally  cain't  he'p  it  fum  showin'." 

"  An'  Charity  —  was  she  lovin'  yo'  pretty  strong 
an'  stiddy  befo'  thisyer  Tempus  pusson  stold  her?  " 

"  Tol'able  strong." 

"  An'  ef  he  was  to  git  removed  away  fum  thisyer 
city  sort  of  sudden  like — ?  " 

Pliny  perked  up  with  the  ray  of  hope  inspired 
by  his  friend's  words.  "  Ef  'twas  to  rain  gol'  dol- 
la's,  Spider.  .  .  ." 


130  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  Ef  he  was  to  be  r'moved  away?  "  repeated  Spi- 
der firmly. 

" — Then  I  reckon  Fd  have  a  pow'ful  good 
chancst.  But  they  ain't  no  man  gwine  git  removed 
away  f  um  a  town  where  he's  makin'  money.  An' 
no  matter  what  faults  Tempus  Attucks  is  got,  he 
shuah  has  a  itch  fo'  the  dollar,  an'  it's  a  itch  whut 
gits  scratched  frequent." 

Spider  Hawkins  rose  to  the  full  of  his  five  feet 
of  height.  He  placed  an  affectionate  hand  on  his 
friend's  arm.  "Pliny,  me  an'  yo'  is  been  frien's 
fo'  a  might'  long  time.  I  reckon  it's  soht  of  up  to 
me  to  git  Charity  Chism  clinchin'  'round  yo'  neck 
pretty  pronto." 

"  Yo'  cain't  do  nothin',  Spider." 

"  Mebbe  so  an'  mebbe  not.  But  I  got  a  hunch 
wunst  I  git  ol'  Tempus  Attucks  runnin'  free  in  the 
homestretch  I  c'n  kick  a  li'l  bit  of  dust  in  his  eyes 
an'  romp  home  under  wraps." 

"  Yo'  mos'  prob'ly  knows  hawses,  Spider," 
gloomed  Pliny,  "  but  thisyer  Tempus  ain't  no 
hawss.  He's  a  mule  an'  he  cain't  be  driv'." 

"  Hmph !  But  mules  c'n  be  pushed ! "  pro- 
claimed Spider,  and  thereupon  put  an  end  to  the 
subject,  his  beam  of  hope  seeping  through  the 
Stygian  blackness  of  despair  to  dimly  light  the 
soul  of  the  doleful  Pliny. 

But  that  night  Spider  did  little  planning.  Five 
minutes  after  he  deposited  his  tiny  but  well-knit 
frame  on  the  home  couch  he  was  off  into  a  deep  and 
dreamless  sleep  from  which  he  was  waked  at  ten 
o'clock  by  his  voluminous  mother,  who  proudly 
bore  aloft  a  tin  waiter  containing  a  breakfast  such 
as  Spider  had  almost  forgotten.  As  he  munched 


TEMPUS  FUGITS  131 

he  beamed  gloriously  from  his  background  of  pink 
silk  pajamas  and  brought  delight  to  the  maternal 
ears: 

"  Hones',  Mom,  thisyer  shuah  is  the  bestest  grub 
done  pas'd  my  lips  sencst  I  been  No'th.  Ain't  no- 
body makes  no  waffles  an'  coffee  like  what  yo'  does. 
Tha's  how  come  li'l  Spider  aint  never  got  him  no 
gal.  Swell  gals  up  where  I  been  at  —  plenty  of 
'em  —  but,  shucks !  ef  I  was  to  marry  one  of  'em 
I1d  git  d'vohced  pow'ful  quick  on  account  of  tellin' 
her  how  Mom  useter  cook.  Yassum :  Jes'  shuah's 
a  jinny  ain't  no  race-hawss.  Gimme  s'mo'  that  they 
jelly,  Mom.  I  'clare,  yo'  is  the  bestest  jelly  maker 
what  is.  Yo'  jelly  an'  waffles  is  the  fondest  thing 
I'm  of,  an'  tha's  a  fac'.  B'lieve  me,  Mom,  my  oP 
man  was  lucky  fo'  to  ever  marry  a  gal  like  what 
yo'  is." 

When  he  left  the  house  a  half  hour  later  his 
mother  was  contentedly  chanting  an  old  and  al- 
most-forgotten plantation  melody  as  she  busied 
herself  with  the  luncheon  preliminaries.  Mamma 
Hawkins  was  happier  than  she  had  been  in  two  long 
years.  She  found  herself  gazing  after  the  tiny, 
swaggering  figure  of  her  elegant  son  and  marvel- 
ling that  she  had  been  blessed  of  the  Gods. 

At  the  ornate  lodge  rooms  of  the  exclusive  Sons 
&  Daughters  of  1  Will  Arise,  Spider  found  several 
indolent  brothers  who  were  equalizing  a  sudden 
raise  in  wages  by  laying  off  for  the  day.  From 
there  he  dropped  into  Broughton's  drug  store  where 
he  quaffed  an  ice  cream  soda  and  jollied  the  grin- 
ning soda-jerker.  He  wandered  forth  and  passed 
the  time  o'  day  with  the  portly  ticket  taker  of 
Champion  Moving  Picture  Theatre  No.  2 ;  and  later 


132  POLISHED  EBONY 

dropped  into  the  editorial  sanctum  of  The  Weekly 
Epoch  where  he  furnished  sufficient  data  for  a  two- 
column  sketch  of  himself. 

Meanwhile  there  was  much  deep  thinking  dis- 
turbing the  mental  processes  of  coloured  profes- 
sional circles.  In  the  veins  of  Lawyer  Evans  Chew, 
for  example,  there  coursed  the  hot  blood  of  a  specu- 
lating race  and  flaming  in  his  mind  was  remem- 
brance of  the  tip  dropped  so  casually  and  good- 
naturedly  by  Jockey  Spider  Hawkins  the  previous 
night. 

A  maiden  five-year-old  by  the  name  of  Laddie 
Buck,  Spider  had  prognosticated,  was  a  sure  thing 
for  the  fourth  race  at  Saratoga  the  coming  Satur- 
day. Laddie  Buck  was  going  to  the  post  a  long 
shot.  Anywhere  from  thirty-  to  fifty-to-one.  Five 
dollars  bet  on  Laddie  Buck  at  thirty  —  minimum 
odds  —  stood  to  net  the  successful  bettor  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  dollars.  The  risk  was  small;  the 
potential  reaping,  large.  Lawyer  Evans  Chew 
nodded,  wrote  a  check  for  five  dollars,  cashed  it  at 
the  bank  downstairs  and  made  his  way  forthwith 
to  the  office  of  Tempus  Attucks,  broker  and  general 
agent  for  Jackson  Ramsay,  arch  operator.  He  met 
Dr.  Vivian  Simmons  emerging. 

"  Howdye,  Doctor  Simmons." 

"  Mornin',  Lawyer  Chew." 

"  Been  transacting  soine  business  with  Brother 
Attucks?" 

"  Most  likely." 

Evans  Chew  grinned.  "  Business  named  Laddie 
Buck,  ain't  it,  Doctor?  " 

"  Jus'  about.     You  on  the  same  mission?  " 

"  Five  dollars'  worth.    How  about  you?  " 


TEMPUS  FUGITS  133 

"  Five  for  myself  and  one  for  Sally  Crouch." 

"  It's  a  good  chance,  Doctor." 

"  Fine  chance,  Lawyer  Chew.  There's  heaps  of 
others  believing  that  Spider  Hawkins  gave  us  an 
accurate  tip.  They're  all  goin'  to  lay  wagers :  Si- 
meon Broughton  and  Florian  Slappey  —  of  course 
Florian  would  —  and  while  I  ain't  sayin'  it's  so, 
mind  you,  Sister  Gallic  Flukers  was  hintin'  that 
she  heard  that  Rev'end  Plato  Tubb  of  the  Fust 
African  M.  E.  Chu'ch  was  considerin'  risking  twof 
dollars." 

The  attorney  chuckled.  "  Rev'end  Tubb  has  a 
lib'ral  conscience,  Doctor  Simmons.  Reckon  he'd 
argue  he  wasn't  betting  on  account  he's  so  sure  he's 
goin'  to  win." 

For  Tempus  Attucks,  business  maintained  a  ter- 
rific pace  throughout  the  day.  By  some  magic,  the 
news  of  Spider  Hawkins'  sure-thing  for  the  fourth 
race  Saturday  had  spread  through  darktown.  To 
the  office  of  Tempus  Attucks  came  the  elite  and  the 
humble,  laying  wagers  ranging  from  twenty-five 
cents  to  five  dollars  on  Laddie  Buck  at  the  best 
odds  obtainable  at  the  opening  of  the  books  Satur- 
day. There  was  an  indefinable  something  in  the 
calm  confidence  of  the  bettors  which  seeped  into 
Teinpus's  blood  and  set  it  a-simmering. 

He  had  known  Spider  Hawkins  only  by  reputa- 
tion, but  the  day's  business  indicated  that  the  com- 
munity had  implicit  confidence  in  Spider's  judg- 
ment. Folks  believed  that  Laddie  Buck  was  des- 
tined to  romp  home  ahead  of  the  field  as  Spider 
had  forecasted.  If  that  were  the  case.  .  .  . 

Tempus  Attucks  was  sufficiently  affluent  to  covet 
real  wealth.  At  no  time  in  his  soft  life  had  he 


134  POLISHED  EBONY 

ever  been  down  to  his  last  dollar.  Conversely,  he 
had  at  no  time  possessed  more  than  eight  hundred. 
At  present  he  was  seized  and  possessed  of  just  about 
three  hundred  and  fifty.  And  he  calculated  rapidly 
that  if  Laddie  Buck  should  win  and  he  had  hap- 
pened to  bet  at  long  odds.  .  .  . 

The  community  was  confident.  When  Tempus 
closed  his  books  that  night  his  friends  and  fellow 
citizens  had  entrusted  him  with  no  less  than  sev- 
enty-two dollars,  every  cent  of  which  was  to  be 
laid  on  Laddie  Buck.  It  went  to  Tempus  Attucks' 
head  like  wine.  He  determined  to  get  in  on  the 
game  himself.  But  Tempus  was  canny.  Taking 
a  chance  had  no  place  in  his  cosmic  scheme.  He 
sought  the  fount  of  knowledge :  he  insinuated  him- 
self upon  Jockey  Spider  Hawkins,  whom  he  found 
puffing  a  black,  gold-banded  cigar  in  the  doorway 
of  Sally  Crouch's  Cozy  Home  Hotel. 

"  Evenin'  Brother  Hawkins." 

"  Howdye,  Mistuh  Attucks." 

"  Have  another  cigar?  " 

Spider  sniffed  it  delicately.  "  Good  terbaccer, 
Brother  Attucks."  He  slipped  it  into  a  silver  cigar 
holder.  "How  yo'  makin'  it,  Brother  Attucks?" 

"  Slow  —  pow'f ul  slow.  Things  don't  seem  to 
pick  up  none  whatever." 

"  Sorry.  Might'  sorry.  Folks  been  prospectin' 
to  me  yo'  been  gittin'  on  tollable  well." 

"  Gittin'  on?  "  Tempus  laughed  a  short,  bitter 
laugh.  "  Gittin'  on  means  a  diff'ent  language  to 
these  heah  niggers  an'  to  you  an'  me,  Brother  Haw- 
kins." 

Spider  nodded.  "  Ain't  it  the  truth  now,  Brother 
Attucks  ?  Ain't  it  the  truth  ?  " 


TEMPUS  FUGITS  135 

"  Shuah  is.  These  heah  niggers,  ef  they  got  a 
hund'ed  dollars  they  think  they  got  all  the  money 
what  is.  Me  an'  you :  us  knows  that  ain't  nothin' 
on'y  a  baggy  tell." 

"  Ain't  it  so?  Hund'ed  ain't  nothin'  tall.  Not 
nothin'  tall  —  it  ain't." 

"  Co'se  I  got  a  good  business.  Makes  a  trifle 
ev'y  Ifl  heah  an'  there.  Always  'members  my 
frien's:  always  do.  Anybody'll  tell  yo'  that  'bout 
Tempus  Attucks.  Yassuh :  they  shuah  will.  But 
times  is  slow.  What  I  wants  is  r'il  money.  Sho' 
nuff  lots  of  it." 

"  Mos'  all  of  us  is  'flicted  thataway,  ain't  it?  " 

Attucks  nudged  Spider  playfully.  "  Yo'  is  shuah 
the  humourestest  feller.  .  .  ." 

"  Aw,  sa-a-ay.  .  .  ." 

"  Yo'  is,  shuah  nuff.  Reckon  yo'  knows  a  heap 
of  things." 

"  Reckon  I  does." 

"  'Bout  hawses  an'  sech." 

"  Soht  of." 

"What  I  likes  'bout  yo',  Brother  Hawkins  — 
what  I  likes  the  very  mostest  'bout  yo',  is  yo'  ain't 
no  tight-lipped  feller  'mongst  yo'  frien's." 

"Me?"  Spider's  brows  arched  with  surprise. 
"  Reckon  yo'  ain't  knowed  me  ve'y  long,  Brother 
Attucks.  I'se  the  tight-liptest  man  what  is." 

"  Not  'mongst  yo'  frien's." 

"  Shuah  is." 

"  Ain't  yo'  say  right  out  in  public  last  night  'bout 
that  hawss  Laddie  Buck  winnin'  the  fo'th  race 
Sat'dy  up  to  Sarahtoga?" 

"Laddie  Buck?  Lad — "  Spider  swung  sud- 
denly and  his  eyes  bored  into  those  of  his  interro- 


136  POLISHED  EBONY 

gator :  "  Law',  Brother  Attucks,  yo'  ain't  gone  an' 
bet  no  r'il  money  on  that  they  dawg,  is  yo'?  " 

"Why  — I  — I  — thought.  .  .  ." 

"  Oh !  Golly,  Brother  Attucks;  tell  me  yo'  ain't 
took  serious  what  I  said  las'  night  'bout  that  they 
ol'  jack,"  pleaded  Spider.  "  Tell  me  the  truth  — 
yo'  ain't  bet  on  him,  is  yo'?  " 

«  YO'—  yo'  said  — " 

"  I  wasn't  on'y  foolin'.  Tha's  all.  Ev'y  man  c'n 
have  his  li'l  joke  sometimes.  But  I  woul'n't  go 
spillin'  no  live  tips  thataway.  Law',  no." 

"  Yo' —  yo'  means  to  stan'  up  they,  Brother  Haw- 
kins, an'  tell  me  Laddie  Buck  ain't  got  no  chancst 
to  win  thisyer  fo'th  race  Sat'dy?  " 

"  Win  it?  Win?'"  Spider  threw  back  his  head 
and  laughed  ringingly.  "  Say,  Brother  Attucks,  ef 
yo'  was  ever  to  see  that  they  she-cow  yo'd  die 
laughin'.  On'y  way  that  dawg  could  win,  Brother 
Attucks,  would  be  ef  ev'y  other  hawss  in  the  race 
done  fell  down  at  the  barrier  —  an'  on'y  then  per- 
vidin'  Laddie  Buck  could  travel  th'  distance  a  tall. 
Hones'  a  th'ee-legged  nannygoat  c'd  give  that  nag 
a  six-fu'long  staht  in  a  seben-fu'long  race  an'  breeze 
under  the  wire  a  length  to  th'  good.  Laddie 
Buck's  jes'  one  of  them  hawses  wasn't  nev'  meant 
to  win.  W'en  he's  down  to  staht  the  jedges  write 
his  name  in  the  also-ran  colyum  an'  f oh  git  he's 
alive.  En  all  the  time  I  been  spohtin'  silk,  Brother 
Attucks,  I  ain't  saw  nothin'  slower'n  that 
Laddie  Buck  'ceptin'  a  lame  snail  I  knowed 
oncet." 

"But  — but  yo'  said—" 

"Listen  heah  at  what  I'se  tellin'  yo',  Brother 


TEMPUS  FUGITS  137 

Attucks:  is  yo'  done  gone  an'  bet  yor  money  on 
Laddie  Buck,  or  isn't  yo'?  " 

"  I  ain't  bet  none  yit." 

"Then  don't!  An'  tha's  the  bestest  adwice  I 
ev'  gave  anybody.  Ef  yo'  wanna  git  some  r'il  fun 
out  of  that  they  money  yo'  was  gwine  bet  on  Laddie 
Buck,  change  it  into  si'ver  dollars  an'  climb  to  the 
top  of  the  mount'in  an'  see  how  far  yo'  c'n  scale 
'em.  B'lieve  me,  w'en  the  hawss  stawk  brought 
Laddie  Buck,  Brother  Attucks,  she  made  a  mis- 
take. He  should  of  been  drapped  in  a  liver'  stable." 

"  Yo'  said  — "  floundered  Tempus  weakly. 

"Tha's  what  comes  of  yo'  not  knowin'  me, 
Brother  Attucks.  Ef  yo'  had  of  knowed  me  long 
yo'd  of  knowed  I  was  on'y  jokin'." 

"  Hmph !  "  remarked  the  disgruntled  Tempus 
cryptically,  "  I  reckon  they  ain't  many  folks  in 
thisyer  town  what  knows  yo'  r'il  well,  Brother 
Hawkins.  Not  many." 

And  with  that  Tempus  Attucks  walked  away, 
shaking  his  head  slowly.  He  was  thinking  earn- 
estly of  the  seventy-two  dollars  in  his  pocket; 
money  left  with  him  by  those  friends  of  Spider 
Hawkins  who  had  believed  in  him  and  the  decrepit 
Laddie  Buck. 

On  Saturday  evening  Tempus  Attucks  eased  into 
the  odorous,  dingy  sanctum  of  Jackson  Ramsay, 
the  white  and  portly  professional  gambler  who 
made  a  more  than  merely  excellent  living  from  the 
contributions  of  the  coloured  community. 

Tempus  responded  absently  to  Kamsay's  cheery 
greeting  and  retired  behind  a  cloud  of  fragrant 


138  POLISHED  EBONY 

cigar  smoke.  Ramsay  busied  himself  with  arrange- 
ments for  the  drawing  of  Genuine  —  the  afternoon 
lottery  —  and  paid  small  heed  to  the  visiting 
agents. 

There  came  a  tap  at  the  door,  it  swung  back  and 
a  small  boy  darted  in.  Tempus  Attucks  sat  up 
stiffly  in  his  chair,  the  cigar  gripped  between  his 
teeth.  He  watched  Jackson  Ramsay  rip  open  the 
telegram  and  impassively  peruse  its  contents. 

"From  Sarahtoga?  ''  queried  Tempus  thickly. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Ramsay,  and  then  turned  to  his 
assistant :  "  Put  these  results  down."  The  assist- 
ant stationed  himself  before  the  blackboard,  chalk 
in  hand. 

"  Ready,  Cap'n  Ramsay." 

"  Saratoga :  First  race  —  Baboon  Baby,  Mother 
Hubbard,  Terrapin.  Second  race  —  Farrallon, 
Carl  K,  Little  Sister.  Third  race  — Venita 
Strome,  Grosvenor,  Carlisle.  Fourth  race  — 
Jackson  Ramsay  paused  in  his  dictation  and  whis- 
tled softly.  Tempus  Attucks  felt  every  muscle  in 
his  body  grow  tense.  Tiny  beads  of  perspiration 
stood  out  on  his  forehead. 

"  Fo'th  race,  Cap'n  — ?  " 

"  I'll  be  horn-swoggled !  " 

"  Boss-man  .  .  .  please  .  .  .  'bout  that  they  fo'th 
race?  " 

"  Forty-to-one  shot  romps  home !  " 

The  room  swam  before  the  eyes  of  Tempus  At- 
tucks :  "  Fohty  to  one  shot,  Cap'n?  " 

"  Forty-to-one.     Til  be  — " 

"  Cap'n  Ramsay  —  please,  suh  —  what  the  name 
of  that  they  fohty-to-one  shot?  " 

"  Laddie  Buck !     Hey,  what's  the  matter?  "  for, 


TEMPUS  FUGITS  139 

with  a  groan  of  agony,  Tempus  Attucks  had  risen. 

"  Ain'  feel  so  well,  Boss-man."  He  staggered  to- 
ward the  door. 

"  But  Tempus  — " 

"  Ain'  got  no  feelin's  fo'  no  convuhsation,  Cap'n. 
Be  back  d'rec'ly."  Tempus  opened  the  door. 
"  Fohty-to-one !  Oh !  my  Law' !  "  The  door  closed 
gently  behind  him. 

Haste  was  slow  in  comparison  with  the  method 
of  transit  employed  by  Tempus  Attucks  in  getting 
to  the  Terminal  Station.  Pop-eyed  and  trembling, 
he  bought  a  ticket  for  Washington  —  that  train 
being  the  only  one  scheduled  to  start  within  the 
next  fifteen  minutes.  And  when  the  train  pulled 
out,  a  limp  and  lachrymose  Tempus  Attucks  was 
huddled  in  an  inconspicuous  corner. 

Meanwhile  the  news  of  Laddie  Buck's  victory 
spread  through  darktown  like  wildfire.  Jubilant 
bettors  sought  Tempus  Attucks,  agent.  Tempus 
was  nowhere  in  evidence. 

One  hour  later  the  truth  was  suspected.  An- 
other hour  and  the  truth  wras  known.  Tempus  At- 
tucks had  departed  the  city:  when  or  whither  no 
one  knew.  But  the  thoroughly  aroused  populace 
was  poignantly  aware  of  the  fact  that  Tempus 
owed  it  something  in  the  neighbourhood  of  three 
thousand  dollars.  The  sentiment  against  the  de- 
parted gentleman  was  thoroughly  crystallized,  su- 
premely unanimous  and  utterly  murderous. 

The  only  ray  of  light  came  to  the  doleful  Pliny 
Driver  from  the  lips  of  his  friend,  Jockey  Spider 
Hawkins.  Spider  slapped  his  pal  on  the  back  with 
a  jovial :  "  He's  done  flew !  " 

"  Hmph !  "  sceptically,  "  tha's  what  they  say." 


140  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  They  is  sayin'  the  truth." 

"  How  come  yo'  to  know  that?  " 

"  Pliny  Driver,  ain't  I  done  tol'  yo'  no  longer 
ago  than  las'  Toosday  I'd  git  rid  of  ol'  Tempus 
Attueks  so's  yo'd  have  a  cl'ar  road  to  Charity 
Chism?" 

"  Yeh.     Yo'  tol'  me.  .  .  ." 

"I  done  it!" 

"Done  what?" 

"  Got  rid  of  Brother  Tempus  so's  he'll  nev'  come 
within  a  hund'ed  miles  of  thisyer  town  ag'in." 

"  How  come  that?  " 

"  N'r  two  hund'ed.     N'r  th'ee  hund'ed." 

"  Yo'  is  makin'  foolishments  with  me." 

"  I'se  serious." 

"  Splain  it  to  me,  Spider,"  begged  Pliny  hope- 
fully. "An'  for  Gawd's  sake,  Spider,  splain  it 
tho'ough!" 

"  Oome  this  way,  Pliny.  OF  Tempus  plays  'em 
safe.  An'  day  after  I  got  heah  an'  drapped  that 
they  tip  'bout  Laddie  Buck  shuah  gwine  win  the 
fo'th  race  this  afternoon,  ev'ybody  stahted  layin' 
they  money  with  Tempus  to  place  with  Cap'n  Ram- 
say. That's  too  much  fo'  Tempus  an'  he  'lows 
he'll  git  in  on  the  killin'.  So  he  braces  me  is  my 
tip  straight. 

"  An'  Pliny,  I  tell  him  Laddie  Buck  ain't  got  no 
mo'  chancst  of  winnin'  that  race  than  what  you 
is  got  of  not  marryin'  Charity  Chism.  An'  'mem- 
ber thisyer,  Pliny:  I  nev'  tol'  my  Men's  nothin' 
but  the  straight  truth.  What  I  tol'  a  ol'  crook  like 
Tempus  don't  matter  to  nobody  ef  I  was  a  li'l  bit 
lib'ral  in  my  guesses." 

" But,"  groped  Pliny  dazedly:    "  Why'd  yo'  tell 


TEMPOS  FUGITS  141 

Tempus  Laddie  Buck  didn't  have  no  chancst  to 
win?" 

"  'Cause  I  had  ol'  Tempus'  number,  Pliny.  Come 
him  to  b'lieve  Laddie  Buck  ain't  got  no  chancst 
he  thinks  how  foolish  to  waste  all  them  seventy 
dollars  he's  got  when  they's  gwine  be  lost.  So  he 
c'ludes  better  fo'  them  seventy  to  stay  in  Tempus's 
pocket  than  to  go  to  them  race-track  men. 

"  Tha's  how  come,  Pliny.  Tempus  never  laid 
them  bets  a  tall!  Nary  dollar!  Come  Laddie 
Buck  romps  home  like  what  I  knowed  he  was  gwine 
do  —  Tempus  Attucks  finds  hisse'f  owin'  theseyer 
niggers  nigh  onto  th'ee  thousan'  dollars. 

"  They  warn't  but  one  thing  he  could  do,  Pliny ; 
an'  he  run  true  to  fohm.  Mahk  my  word :  f oh  about 
a  hund'ed  yeahs  or  so  'round  this  heah  town  Tempus 
Attucks  is  gwine  be  'bout  the  scarcest  thing  what 
is!" 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL 

EMEMBEE,  Gussie,  I  want  the  dining-room 
thorough-cleaned.  The  Browning  Club 
meets  here  this  afternoon  and  — " 

"  Yassum,  Mis'  C'ruthers,  it'll  be  so  clean  you 
ain't  gwine  know  it." 

"  And  the  flat  silver  must  be  polished." 

"  I'se  gwine  'tend  to  all  of  that.  You  trot  'long 
downtown,  Mis'  C'ruthers,  an'  leave  it  to  me." 

Mrs.  Franklin  Carruthers  heaved  a  sigh  of  in- 
effable contentment.  "  You  are  a  very  valuable 
servant,  Gussie.  Good-bye." 

"  G'-bye,  Mis'  C'ruthers.  Be  sho'  an'  have  a  good 
time." 

The  front  door  of  the  apartment  slammed.  Miss 
Gussie  Muck,  coloured  maid-of-most-of-the-work, 
mopped  the  polished  floor  of  the  dining-room  vi- 
ciously for. perhaps  two  minutes  —  until  the  thrum 
of  Mrs.  Carruthers'  automobile  came  to  her  ears  — 
then  gently  turned  back  the  corner  of  the  axminster 
art  square.  When  she  replaced  the  corner  the  dust 
had  disappeared.  Then  Gussie  leaned  her  mop 
against  the  door,  strolled  into  Mrs.  Carruthers' 
bedroom  and  seated  herself  at  the  dressing-table. 

A  coating  of  talcum,  a  touch  of  face  powder,  a 
dab  of  rouge  and  Gussie  was  well  satisfied  that  she 
had  enhanced  the  physical  glories  of  feature  with 
which  she  had  been  endowed  by  nature.  She  made 
her  way  to  the  living-room,  selected  a  lurid  novel 
from  the  bookcase  and  dropped  languidly  into  an 

145 


146  POLISHED  EBONY 

easy  chair  after  having  first  helped  herself  to  a 
quartet  of  particularly  toothsome  glace"  fruits 
from  the  box  on  the  library  table. 

She  was  interrupted  by  the  strident  ringing  of 
the  kitchen  bell.  Her  face  expressed  complete  dis- 
approval of  the  interruption.  But  at  sight  of  the 
man  standing  on  the  tiny  back  porch  the  expression 
underwent  a  decided  change. 

Aaron  Segar  was  not  unused  to  the  phenomenon. 
Aaron  had  been  born  with  a  gift  for  making  women 
smile  and  grow  warm  all  over.  He  wras  handsome 
and  tall  and  broad  and  divinely  chocolate-creamy 
of  skin.  He  unleashed  his  most  fetching  laugh  for 
Gussie. 

"  Howdye,  Miss  Muck." 

"  Mawnin',  Mistuh  Segar." 

"Wukin'  hahd?" 

Gussie  sighed.  "Beckon  I  is.  Ain't  nobody 
livin'  these  days  what  ain't  wuk  hahd,  Misto'  Se- 
gar." 

"  You  shuah  said  sumpin'  then,  Miss  Gussie. 
Wuk,  wuk,  wuk  all  the  time.  Me  more'n  you." 

"  Huh ! " 

"  That's  the  truth.  Ain't  no  gittin'  off  fo'  me. 
Bein'  a  janitor  is  a  pow'ful  hahd  perfession,  Miss 
Gussie." 

"  Reckon  you  is  strong  enough  to  stan'  it,  Mistuh 
Segar." 

"  Reckon  I  is.  But  it's  pow'ful  ti'esome  an' 
lonely,  Gussie.  It  been  diffe'ent  down  to  S'vannah 
whar  I  come  fum.  They  ain't  'spec  a  man  to  do  no 
th'ee  men's  wuk  down  they." 

"  You  was  a  'pahtment-house  janitor  there  same 
asheah?" 


-NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        147 

"  Uh-huh ! "  He  lowered  his  voice  discreetly. 
"  Ain't  I  saw  Mis'  C'ruthers  go  off  in  her  car  jes' 
now?" 

"  Yeh." 

He  opened  the  screen  door.  "  Don't  mind  if  n 
I  drap  in,  does  you?  " 

"  He'p  yo'se'f,  Mistuh  Segar." 

He  waved  his  hand  grandiosely.  "  You'n  me  is 
gwine  be  good  Men's,  ain't  we,  Gussie?  " 

"  Guess  you  c'n  answer  that  well  as  me." 

"  Then  call  me  '  Aaron.'  " 

"  Ain't  knowed  you  but  th'ee  days." 

"  You  gwine  know  me  longer'n  that.     Boun'  to." 

"Well.  .  .  ." 

"All  the  gals  what  I  likes,  I  asks  them  to  call 
me  Aaron.  I  nev'  was  no  shakes  fo'  fo'mal'ty. 
Fust  names  atween  frien's,  I  says.  Tha's  how  come 
I  to  call  you  Gussie.  You  ain't  got  no  'jections,  is 
you?  " 

"  This  town  ain't  S'vannah,  Mistuh  Segar." 

He  rose.  "  If  n  you  ain't  gwine  call  me 
Aaron  — " 

"Aaron!" 

He  re-seated  himself.  "Tha's  better.  No  — 
this  heah  town  ain't  like  S'vannah,  Gussie.  Up 
heah,  they  ain't  no  tellin'  who's  quality  folks  an' 
who  ain't  —  that  is,  'mongst  the  white  folks.  An' 
I'se  always  been  pow'ful  p'tic'lar  'bout  what  soht 
of  white  folks  I  wuks  fo'." 

"  I  ain't  blamin'  you,  Aaron.  Us  coloured  peo- 
ple cain't  be  too  'ticalar.  How  you  like  it  up 
heah?" 

"  Tol'able.     On'y  tol'able." 

"How  come?" 


148  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  I'se  lonely,  Gussie.  Ain't  know  nobody  in  this 
heah  town.  On'y  a  few.  Come  night,  they  ain't 
nothin'  fo'  me  to  do  but  go  down  to  the  'pahtment 
what  they  gives  me  in  the  basement  an'  set 
'roun'  an'  wisht  I  was  married  so's  I  woul'n't  be  so 
lonely." 

"  Huh !     Bet  you  been  married !  " 

Aaron  Segar  laughed  heartily.     "  Is  I  look  it?  " 

"  We-e-ell :  not  'zactly." 

"An'  they's  a  reason,  Gussie.  I  ain't  nev'  met 
the  gal  I  wan'ed  to  marry.  Not  twell  yet." 

"Beckon  you  is  might'  hahd  to  please,  Mistuh 
Segar." 

"Aaron-!" 

"  Aaron." 

"  Reckon  I  is  hahd  to  please.  Tha's  how  come  I 
to  watch  ontil  Mis'  C'ruthers'  gone  off  in  her  car, 
an'  then  come  up  heah." 

"  How  that?  " 

"  I  ain't  make  much  talk  with  you,  Gussie  —  but 
you  shuah  looks  pow'ful  good  to  me." 

"  G'wan,  Aaron.     You  is  some  loose  flatt'rer." 

"  Reckon  I  is  got  the  cou'age  of  my  convictions." 

"  Reckon  you  think  I  is  like  them  S'vannah  gals 
—  swally  all  that  bull." 

"Gals  whut  I  is  went  with  heahtofo'  ain't  got 
so  many  compliments  fum  me." 

"  How  I  know  that?  " 

"  B'lieve  it  or  not.     I  cain't  make  you." 

"Well.  .  .  .  Hongry?" 

"  Always,  'ceptin'  when  I  c'n  git  to  town.  Does 
my  own  cookin'  downstairs,  Gussie.  Man's  got  to, 
come  he  ain't  got  no  wife.  So  I  ain't  git  ve'y  good 
food.  Why  you  ask  me?  " 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        149 

"  They  was  a  couple  chops  lef '  over  fum  break- 
fas'.  .  .  ." 

"You  cook  'em?" 

"  Uh-huh ! " 

"Trot  'em  out.  Bet  they  is  some  fine-cooked 
chops." 

Gussie  spurred  herself  to  real  activity  for  some 
five  minutes  whilst  she  basked  in  the  light  of  Aaron 
Segar's  unqualified  approval.  She  heated  two  suc- 
culent lamb  chops,  made  three  slices  of  crisp  toast 
which  she  buttered  liberally,  and  poured  the  solid 
cream  top  from  the  quart  of  fresh  milk.  And 
Aaron  exhibited  his  appreciation  by  a  marvellous 
display  of  gustatory  gymnastics.  Finally  he  fin- 
ished, sighed  and  regretfully  shoved  his  plate  aside. 

"  Golly !  you  shuah  is  some  cook !  " 

"  Reckon  I  is  got  to  be  if  n  I  hoi'  my  job  with 
Mis'  C'ruthers.  White  folks  is  awful  capshus, 
Aaron.  They  spec'  they  coloured  he'p  to  wuk  all 
the  time." 

"  Aint  you  talkin'  now?  " 

"  Sometimes  I  is  got  a  pow'ful  good  notion  to 
cut  loose  an'  git  married." 

Aaron  delayed  his  departure  with  one  hand  on 
the  door.  All  the  wealth  of  a  contagiously  sunny 
nature  went  into  the  smile  which  he  bestowed  upon 
her.  "  When  you  makes  up  yo'  mind  to  git  mar- 
ried, Gussie,  don't  fohgit  my  telephone  number 
cas'n  you  have  any  trouble  findin'  a  husband." 

As  he  stomped  down  the  steps  leading  to  the 
decorative  back  court  of  the  Glen  Ridge  apart- 
ments, Gussie  dropped  into  a  kitchen  chair  and 
stared  raptly  into  space.  Aaron  Segar!  What  a 
man!  Of  their  own  volition  her  thoughts  veered 


150  POLISHED  EBONY 

dreamily  to  the  little  apartment  which  the  pro- 
prietors of  the  Glen  Ridge  apartments  furnished 
their  janitor.  Bedroom,  dining-room,  kitchen  — 
gas,  steam  heat,  hot  and  cold  water.  .  .  .  Gussie 
sighed. 

Meanwhile  the  magnificent  Aaron  paused  at  the 
back  door  of  Mrs.  Percival  Connor's  apartment. 
His  hypercritical  eyes  rested  with  infinite  appre- 
ciation on  the  trim  little  figure  of  one  Mallissie 
Cheese,  cook  and  nurse  girl  in  the  Connor  menage. 

"  Mawnin',  M'lissie." 

The  girl  shrugged  with  simulated  indifference: 
«  Mawnin'." 

"  What's  the  matter :  somebody  been  rub  you  the 
wrong  way?  " 

"  No." 

"  You  seem  'bout  as  happy  as  a  live  pig  at  a  bar- 
becue." 

"  Reckon  I  is  happy,  Mistuh  Segar." 

"  Mis'  Connor  been  givin'  you  down-the-coun- 
try?  " 

"  Reckon  they  ain't  no  white  folks  try  no  sech 
fumadiddles  on  me,  Mistuh  Segar." 

"How  come  you  to  fohgit  my  name  Aaron?" 

"  Reckon  I  fo'gits  so  Gussie  Muck  up  to  Mis' 
C'ruthers'  c'n  remember  it." 

Aaron  threw  back  his  head  and  gave  vent  to  a 
hearty  laugh.  "  Shucks !  You  ain't  gwine  git  jeal- 
ous of  a  ol'  frump  like  Gussie  Muck,  is  you?  " 

Mallissie  looked  up.  More  —  she  smiled. 
"  Gussie  Muck  is  a  pow'ful  pretty  gal,  Aaron." 

He  shook  his  head  in  diplomatic  negation. 
"  Reckon  you  an'  me  is  got  diffe'ent  tastes,  Mallis- 
sie. I  like  'em  li'l  —  like  what  you  is." 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        151 

When  Aaron  departed  from  the  Connor  kitchen 
about  five  minutes  later  he  left  Mallissie  Cheese 
humming  happily  and  dated-up  to  accompany  him 
to  Champion  Moving  Picture  Theatre  No.  2  that 
night  to  see  the  nineteenth  episode  of  "  The  Fight- 
ing Fate "  which  they  agreed  upon  as  the  high- 
water  mark  in  motion  picture  production. 

The  new  janitor  reached  the  back  court  —  and 
he  met  Fashion  Wilson,  a  girl  of  the  Gussie  Muck 
tJPe  —  only  a  trifle  more  so.  She  was  seated  on  a 
bench  under  the  big  oak  giving  half  an  eye  to  the 
care  of  two  children  and  the  other  one  and  a  half 
to  Aaron. 

"  Been  paintin'  Mis'  Connor's  kitchen,  Aaron?  " 

"  Naw." 

"  How  come  you  in  they  so  long?  " 

"  Been  tryin'  to  git  down  heah  an'  talk  with  you. 
Fashi'n,  but  that  skinny  li'l  gal  what  wuks  fo'  Mis' 
Connor  —  whut  her  name  is?  " 

"  Mallissie  Cheese." 

"  Tha's  it  —  I  plumb  fo'got.  It  jes'  seemed  like 
she  woul'n't  lemme  git  away.  Jes'  settin'  they  an' 
makin'  a  whole  passel  of  foolish  talk.  .  .  ." 

"  Mallissie's  a  might'  nice  gal." 

"  Guess  they  is  some  things  you'n  me  won't  nev' 
agree  on,  Fashi'n." 

"  An'  pretty  — " 

"  I  likes  mo'  of  them  than  what  they  is  of  M'lis- 
sie."  He  cast  the  eye  of  a  connoisseur  over  Fash- 
ion's junoesque  proportions.  Then  he  eased  him- 
self to  the  bench  beside  her.  "How  'bout  goin' 
down  to  Champeen  number  Two  with  me  tomorry 
night,  huh?  " 

"  Whyn't  you  ask  Ella?  " 


152  POLISHED  EBONY 

"Ella  which?" 

"  Ella  Dungee." 

"  That  funny-lookin'  gal  whut  wuks  fo'  Mis'  Ham- 
mond? Whut  fo'  I  should  ask  her?" 

"  You  is  been  hangin'  'roun'  that  'partment  right 
smaht  lately." 

"  Huh !  Reckon  I  is  had  to.  Way  that  gal  keeps 
Mis'  Hammond's  kitchen,  Fashi'n  —  if  n  I  diVt  git 
that  they  place  cleaned  out  they'd  be  roaches  all 
over  this  heah  'pahtment  in  a  week.  Guess  Ella 
Dungee  ain't  Aaron  Segar's  style  a  tall,  a  tall." 

But  twenty  minutes  later  when  he  met  Ella 
Dungee  after  having  conducted  a  strategic  retire- 
ment from  the  immediate  presence  of  the  buxom 
Fashion,  he  gave  her  a  heart-warming  smile. 
"  'Clare  to  goodness,  Ella  —  if 'n  you  ain't  the  ve'y 
purties'  gal  I  ev'  did  see !  " 

"  Bet  you  is  said  that  th'ee  hund'ed  times  today, 
Aaron." 

"  Cain't  be.     Ain't  seed  you  but  this  oncet." 

"  Nothin'  pretty  'bout  me." 

"  I  gwine  buy  you  a  lookin'  glass,  Ella.  By  the 
way:  got  a  date  fo'  Sat'dy  night?  " 

"  No-o." 

"  How  'bout  gwine  to  Champeen  Number  Two 
with  me?  " 

"Well.  .  .  ." 

He  waved  cheerily  as  he  descended  to  his  base- 
ment. "  Man  sho'  is  lucky  when  he  c'n  date  up 
with  a  gal  like  you,  Ella." 

"  You  is  a  sof  talker,  Aaron." 

"Me?  Shucks!  I  woul'n't  know  how  to  pay  a 
complyment  if 'n  I  wan'ed  to !  " 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        153 

It  really  wasn't  Aaron's  fault.  He  had  been  cre- 
ated with  a  talent  for  women  and  was  no  believer 
iu  burying  any  talent.  Women  gravitated  toward 
him.  They  clung  to  him.  They  pestered  an  other- 
wise equable  existence. 

His  obliging  nature  was  the  petard  upon  which 
he  was  hoist.  He  hated  to  disappoint  anybody  — 
especially  a  lady  friend.  And  he  was  frankly  flat- 
tered by  their  unanimous  and  unconcealed  adora- 
tion. 

And  these  girls  were  different  from  his  Savannah 
friends,  just  as  the  Glen  Ridge  apartments  were 
better  than  the  unpretentious  things  he  had  jan- 
itor'd  on  Savannah's  Abercorn  street.  These  girls 
had  more  elan,  their  ideas  were  metropolitan. 
They  were  women  of  fine  discrimination  and  deli- 
cate appreciation  —  as  different  from  the  crude, 
provincial  product  of  Tybee  and  Thunderbolt  as 
high  yaller  is  different  from  ebony. 

More  —  standing  in  with  the  cooks  wras  a  ma- 
terial proposition.  His  own  culinary  labour  and 
expenses  were  reduced.  Aaron  was  an  epicure  and 
appreciated  the  fact  that  the  Gray,  Connor,  Ham- 
mond and  Carruthers  families  lived  upon  the  fat 
of  the  land.  The  lagniappe  from  their  pantries 
tickled  his  palate  and  brightened  his  philosophy. 

He  liked  the  city  and  the  city  liked  him.  Within 
two  months  he  had  become  somewhat  of  a  social 
lion.  He  was  initiated  into  the  exclusive  Sons  & 
Daughters  of  I  Will  Arise;  he  joined  the  ten-cents-a- 
week  Over  The  River  Burying  Society  and  became 
a  prominent  and  valued  mourner  at  the  obsequies 
of  the  dear  departed  brothers  and  sisters  who  were 


154  POLISHED  EBONY 

ushered  from  this  mortal  coil  with  full  panoply  of 
parade  —  and  music.  He  sang  a  pleasing  bari- 
tone and  joined  the  choir  of  the  Primitive  Baptist 
Church  —  much  to  the  delight  of  the  Rev'end  Ar- 
landas  Sipsey,  pastor  thereof.  Reverends  Plato 
Tubb  and  Wesley  Luther  Thigpen  of  the  First 
African  M.  E.  and  the  Shiloh  congregations  re- 
spectively, admitted  1;hat  the  Reverend  Arlandas 
had  outgeneralled  them.  Aaron  Segar  was  an  ac- 
quisition of  which  any  church  might  well  be  proud. 

He  was  decidedly  a  man  of  parts.  His  salary  of 
eighty-five  dollars  per  month  was  exclusive  of  per- 
quisites such  as  a  steam-heated,  furnished  apart- 
ment at  the  Glen  Ridge  and  estovers  provided  by 
the  admiring  cooks  over  whom  his  spell  had  been 
cast. 

But  the  swift  flight  of  time  brought  a  wrinkle  to 
the  normally  placid  forehead  of  Aaron  Segar.  He 
found  himself  facing  a  near-domestic  problem  to 
which  there  was  no  apparent  answer,  and  he  be- 
sought the  professional  services  of  Lawyer  Evans 
Chew,  leading  light  of  darktown's  legal  fraternity. 

The  buxom  stenographer  warmed  to  Aaron's 
sweetest  smile  and  carried  his  name  into  the  private 
sanctum  of  Lawyer  Chew.  She  returned  promptly. 

"  Lawyer  Chew  will  see  you  in  a  minute,  Mistuh 
Segar.  He's  in  confe'ence  now." 

Aaron  waited  patiently,  amusing  himself  by  flirt- 
ing violently  with  the  stenographer,  whose  hitherto 
impregnable  heart  pounded  with  wild  hope. 
Finally  the  pompous  conferees  departed  and  Law- 
yer Chew  —  slender,  immaculate,  horn-rim-spec- 
tacled—  personally  ushered  Aaron  into  the  pri- 
vate office. 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        155 

"Mister  Segar  —  I  am  delighted  to  meet  you." 

"  Me,  too,  Lawyer  Chew." 

"  You  wish  to  consult  me  on  a  professional  mat- 
ter? " 

"  Yassuh  —  tha's  it  'zactly,  Lawyer  Chew." 

"Ahem.  .  .  .  Proceed,  please." 

"  Yassuh  — "  Aaron  groped  blindly,  then 
smiled  wanly.  "  I  ain't  'zactly  know  whar  to  be- 
gin at." 

"  What  sort  of  a  case  is  it?  " 

"  Dunno  —  less'n  you'd  call  it  britch  of  prom- 
ise." 

"A-ha!  You  have  become  involved  with  lay 
patcct  fcmme,  as  they  say  in  French." 

"How  that?" 

"  You  are  involved  with  a  member  of  the  —  er  — 
gentler  sex." 

"  Yassuh !     Involved  is  right  —  sho'  nuff ." 

"  How  did  it  occur?  " 

"  It  ain't  occur,  Lawyer  Chew  —  it  jes'  happen." 

"  What  is  the  lady's  name?  " 

"  'Tain't  no  lady." 

"What?" 

"  Nossuh ;  it's  fo'  wirnmin." 

"  Four?  " 

"  Tha's  it :  one,  two,  th'ee,  fo'." 

Lawyer  Chew  leaned  forward  incredulously. 
"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Brother  Segar,  that  you 
are  faced  by  four  britch  of  promise  suits?  " 

"  I  c'n  cut  it  down  to  th'ee,  if'n  that'll  help  any." 

"  How  so?  " 

"Marry  one  of  them  wimmin  an'  let  the  other 
th'ee  scratch." 

"Ahem!    Strawdinry!    A  case  prob'ly  without 


156  POLISHED  EBONY 

parallel  on  the  books.  How  does  it  happen  that 
you  have  fallen  into  the  error  — " 

"  'Twarn't  no  error,  Lawyer  Chew  — 'twarn't 
nothin'  but  a  mistake." 

"  I  suppose  it  was.  Who  are  the  ladies  in  ques- 
tion?" 

"They's  M'lissie  Cheese  an'  Ella  Dungee  an' 
Fashi'n  Wilson  an'  Gussie  Muck.  They  wuks  out 
to  the  Glen  Ridge  'pahtments  whar  I  is  janitor  at. 
An',"  his  eyes  twinkled  irrepressibly,  "  they  is 
mighty  lovin'." 

"  I  see :  I  see.     Continue,  please." 

"  I'se  tellin'  you  this  right  heah  an'  now,  Lawyer 
Chew  —  they  ain't  hahdly  no  man  c'n  handle  one 
woman.  But  fo}  wimmin,  Lawyer  Chew,  is  an  un- 
possibility.  I  knows!'' 

"  You  are  sure  that  they  will  all  sue  you?  " 

"  I  ain't  know  as  any  of  them  is  because  I  sort 
of  got  'em  guessin'.  But  a  woman  ain't  got  but 
so  much  guessin'  in  her,  Lawyer  Chew  —  an'  when 
that  gits  used  up,  she  wants  action.  Y'see,  right 
now  they  ain't  nary  one  of  them  gals  knows  which 
one  I  is  gwine  pick  out.  They  is  jes'  'bout  tearin' 
one-nuther's  ha'r  out  by  the  roots  —  but  they's  all 
kinder  skeered  to  light  in  on  me  'cause  they's  the 
chancst  that  they  is  the  lucky  one. 

"  I  been  playin'  both  ends  'gainst  the  middle, 
Lawyer  Chew  —  an'  the  middle  is  might'  nigh 
reached.  I  ain't  know  whether  I  is  comin'  or  goin'. 
Meanw'ile  they  is  all  tryin'  to  find  out  whar  I  stan' 
at." 

"What  have  you  told  them?" 

"  I  done  swore  to  each  of  them  gals  she  is  the 
one  I  gwine  marry.  An'  they  is  gittin'  pow'ful 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        157 

impatient.  I  sort  of  wan'ed  to  fin'  out  what  is  the 
law  on  britches  of  promise  —  not  jes'  one  britch, 
but  a  whole  lot  of  'em." 

Lawyer  Chew  cleared  his  throat  and  thumbed 
portentously  through  the  Alabama  code.  He  next 
consulted  his  Southern  Reporter  and  his  Cyc.  He 
shook  his  head  discouragingly.  "  The  dictas  ain't 
ve'y  clear  about  yo'  sort  of  a  case,  Brother  Segar. 
Seems  like  the  men  what  wrote  the  law  books  never 
entertained  no  idea  of  a  man  gettin'  engaged  to 
four  women  at  one  time." 

"  Oh!  Golly.  .  .  .  You  mean  to  set  they  an'  tell 
me,  Lawyer  Chew,  that  they  ain't  nothin'  in  all 
them  books  gwine  show  me  how  to  git  out  of  the 
pickle  Ise  in?" 

"  No,"  reflectively.     "  I  don't  see  — 

"  Not  no  way?  " 

Lawyer  Chew  brightened  with  an  idea.  "  If  you 
were  married  to  all  four  of  them  women,  Brother 
Segar,  I  might  help  you,  because  the  law  is  ve'y 
specific  about  bigamy." 

"  FTuli !  If'n  I  was  married  to  them  fo'  wim- 
min,  Lawyer  Chew  —  they  ain't  no  law  could 
he'p  me." 

"  I  still  don't  understand  how  you  got  into  this 
mess." 

"  I  di'n't  git  in.  Hones'  I  di'n't.  I  was  jes'  sort 
of  pulled  in  like  a  feller  listenin'  at  the  bones  click. 
Keckon  you  ain't  nev'  had  the  sperience  of  wimmin 
fallin'  in  love  with  you  in  job-lots,  is  you?  " 

"  Not  —  er  —  precisely." 

"  Tha's  the  trouble  with  you  lawyers.  You  ain't 
had  no  sperience.  All  what  you  know  is  what  has 
been  wrote  in  them  they  books.  What  you  reckon 


158  POLISHED  EBONY 

them  they  men  knowed  'bout  M'lissie  Cheese  an' 
Ella  Dungee  an'  them  other  nigger  gals?  Huh? 
Whut  you  reckon  they  knowed  'bout  them?  White 
folks  wrote  them  books  an'  white  folks  don'  know 
nothin'  'bout  how  a  yaller  gal  c'n  co't  a  man  if'n 
he  looks  good  to  her.  Ain't  that  so,  Lawyer  Chew 
—  ain't  it  the  truth,  now?  " 

"  And  you  have  personally  pledged  yourself  to 
each  of  the  four  girls?  " 

"  Absotively  an'  ontirely.  They  woul'n't  stan' 
fo'  nothin'  less." 

The  attorney  and  counsellor  rubbed  the  palms 
of  his  hands  unctiously.  "  As  they  isn't  any  stat- 
ute or  decision  of  a  co't  of  las'  resort  covering  the 
case  under  consideration,"  he  proclaimed  senten- 
tiously,  "  the  best  I  can  do  is  to  consider  the  cir- 
cumstances from  the  light  of  expediumcy." 

"Tha's  it,  Lawyer  Chew  —  you  sho'  is  tootin' 
now." 

"  In  that  light,  the  best  adwice  I  can  give  you, 
Brother  Segar,  is  that  you  bring  about  a  quarrel 
with  each  of  the  girls  to  which  you  is  engaged  and 
make  them  break  off  the  engagement." 

Aaron  Segar  rose  abruptly.  His  face  was 
wreathed  in  disgust.  "  Huh !  Reckon  you  ain't 
no  diffe'ent  fum  them  foolish  books,  Lawyer  Chew. 
Maybe  you  know  the  law  —  but  you  ain't  know 
them  gals ! " 

Mr.  Segar  left  the  office  of  Lawyer  Chew  more 
perturbed  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  placid, 
happy-go-lucky  life.  He  even  forgot  to  flirt  with 
the  stenographer.  For  once  he  was  up  against  a 
proposition  from  which  his  cheerful  smile  and 
sunny  disposition  could  not  extricate  him:  a  di- 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        159 

lemma,  in  fact,  where  they  were  arrayed  with  the 
liabilities  instead  of  with  the  assets. 

"  I  reckon,"  he  soliloquized  miserably,  "  they 
ain't  no  nigger  could  ever  git  in  no  worse  scrape 
than  what  I  is  in." 

In  which  he  was  wrong.  There  was  one  darkey 
capable  of  getting  in  deeper.  There  was  one  dusky 
gentleman  who  promptly  proceeded  to  do  it. 

The  name  of  that  negro  was  —  Aaron  Segar ! 

For  —  two  nights  after  his  interview  with  Law- 
yer Evans  Chew  —  Aaron  Segar  met  his  affinity ! 

The  epochal  event  occurred  at  Blue  Lake  Park, 
the  negro  amusement  grounds  some  six  miles  from 
the  heart  of  the  big  southern  city  in  which  the  Glen 
Ridge  apartments  and  Aaron's  amorital  troubles 
were  located. 

The  time  was  night,  the  occasion  a  gala  jubilee 
of  the  society  season :  The  Eleventh  Annual  Bar- 
becue and  Picnic  of  the  Primitive  Baptist  Church. 
Tickets,  including  Gent  and  Lady  —  Fifty  Cents. 
Children,  half  price.  Come  one  —  come  all.  Rev. 
Arlandas  Sipsey,  Pastor. 

It  was  a  noble  revelry :  a  glory  of  fires  burning 
in  shallow  ditches  —  fires  which  reached  the  succu- 
lent pork  quarters  sizzling  as  they  revolved  on  the 
iron  skewers;  fires  which  kept  hot  the  iron  vessels 
filled  with  luscious  brown  gravy.  Barbecue  spe- 
cialists hovered  over  the  gravy  vessels,  armed  with 
long  mops  and  small  tree  branches.  These  they 
soaked  in  the  gravy  and  then  spattered  over  the 
roasting  meat.  The  ample  Sally  Crouch  presided 
nearby  in  queenly  fashion  over  the  Brunswick  Stew 
division  —  without  which  no  barbecue  is  complete. 

The  double  quartet  from  the  Primitive  Baptist 


160  POLISHED  EBONY 

Church  choir  was  harmoniously  on  hand  and  be- 
tween songs  the  string  and  reed  orchestra  of  Pro- 
fessor Alec  Champagne  rendered  toe-tickling  melo- 
dies which  ranged  from  the  classic  Memphis  Blues 
to  an  elegantly  syncopated  version  of  the  Miserere 
which  Professor  Champagne  claimed  as  an  orig- 
inal composition.  Children  romped  and  shouted 
and  got  in  every  one's  way.  Church  deacons  clus- 
tered in  groups :  grim-visaged  and  ponderous  whilst 
they  argyfied  about  the  heat  of  the  hereafter  and 
the  spiritual  benefits  of  total  immersion. 

Young  couples  took  shape  from  the  darkness  and 
other  young  couples  disappeared  into  the  night. 
The  other  congregations  were  plentifully  repre- 
sented :  Rev'end  Plato  Tubb  was  there  and  so  was 
the  Reverend  Wesley  Luther  Thigpen.  Then,  too, 
there  was  Dr.  Vivian  Simmons,  M.D. ;  and  Amos 
Stump,  the  perpetually  smiling  undertaker;  and 
Florian  Slappey  and  Mr.  and  ISTrs.  Simeon  Brough- 
ton,  and  Pliny  Driver  with  his  gaily-plumaged 
fiancS,  Charity  Chism;  and  Peter  and  Mrs.  Samp- 
son, and  Elias  Rush  and  his  wife  —  n6e  Imogene 
Carter ;  and  Imogene's  brother,  Clarence ;  and  Pine- 
top  Roller  and  ponderous  Mrs.  Ella  Hawkins  and 
Sister  Gallic  Flukers  and  the  dynamic  Crispus 
Breach,  fiery-penned  editor  of  The  Weekly  Epoch 
—  Crispus  glaring  intensively  into  the  black  void 
for  new  adjectives  with  which  to  embellish  his  ac- 
count of  this  social  triumph. 

And  there,  too,  was  lone  Drought! 

Aaron  Segar,  harassed  —  overwrought  and  har- 
ried with  the  nerve-strain  of  placating  each  of  his 
four  fiances  and  compromising  himself  with  no  one 
of  them  —  Aaron  Segar  saw  lone  Drought ! 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        161 

Aaron  fell. 

Gone  on  the  instant  were  his  fervent  resolutions 
to  eschew  women.  Gone  was  the  misogyny  in- 
spired by  the  utter  failure  of  his  most  fervid 
attempts  to  unleash  himself  from  four  pair  of  ar- 
dent, clinging,  feminine  arms.  Gone  for  ever  was 
the  solemn  pledge  of  celibacy. 

He  forgot  Mallissie  Cheese.  He  forgot  Fashion 
Wilson.  He  forgot  Ella  Dungee  and  Gussie  Muck. 
He  forgot  everything  and  everybody  save  lone 
Drought;  lone  the  magnificent,  lone  the  unique, 
lone  the  reserved,  lone  the  neglected,  lone  the  de- 
sirable. 

"  Who  —  who  —  that  gal?"  he  inquired  of  Flo- 
rian  Slappey,  mentor  of  the  younger  social  set. 

"Which  gal?" 

"  Over  yonder :  that  they  gal  with  the  green  dress 
an'  the  yaller  hat?  " 

Florian  raised  languid,  bored  eyes.  "Oh!  her? 
She  ain't  nobody  but  lone  Drought." 

Aaron  glared  —  but  retained  his  tact.  "  Per- 
duce  me  to  her,  will  you?" 

"  Shuah !    Anythin'  to  'blige  a  f rien'." 

Ten  minutes  later  the  enslaved  Aaron  and  a 
happiness-dazed  lone  dislimned  into  the  shadows 
of  Blue  Lake  Park.  Four  pair  of  affianced  eyes 
searched  in  vain  for  Aaron  Segar.  He  had  dis- 
appeared and  for  one  glorious  hour  he  forgot  that 
love  of  woman  had  been  his  undoing  —  forgot 
everything  save  that  he  tightly  clasped  the  warm, 
responsive  hand  of  the  woman  who  had  been  pre- 
ordained as  his. 

Aaron  Segar  had  fallen  utterly,  blindly,  hope- 
lessly, miserably  in  love ! 


162  POLISHED  EBONY 

Better  men  than  Aaron  Segar  have  fallen  in  love, 
but  none  more  deeply.  He  told  lone  all  about  it 
so  often  that  he  repeated  himself.  Finally  he  gave 
up  in  disgust  the  verbal  attempts  —  declaring  him- 
self no  orator  —  and  took  to  verse: 

lone  your  eys  burn  up  my  heart  like  fier 

and  wen  I  say  that  I  shure  ant  no  Her 
Im  fond  of  you  so  passiuate  and  true 
I  only  wish  you  coud  love  me  strong  like  I  love  you. 
yrs.  respectfuly  — 

AARON  SEOAB. 

lone  capitulated  before  the  poetic  shafts.  Aaron 
wasn't  any  Robert  Browning,  but  he,  at  least,  was 
understandable.  And  from  the  outset  lone  had 
been  considerably  dazed  by  Aaron's  sudden  pas- 
sion and  had  been  wary  and  sceptical.  But  a  week 
proved  to  her  beyond  peradventure  of  doubt  that 
his  intentions  were  as  honourable  as  they  were 
obvious,  and  thereupon  she  brought  into  action 
the  great  fund  of  common  sense  with  which  she  was 
endowed. 

She  gave  in  —  with  reserve.  She  let  Aaron  un- 
derstand that  he  was  being  considered  —  seriously 
considered ;  that  he  might,  in  fact,  presume  to  claim 
the  perquisites  of  an  engaged  man.  But  she  suc- 
ceeded admirably  in  holding  the  deliriously  happy 
man  at  sufficient  distance  to  keep  him  in  constant 
terror  of  losing  her. 

lone  was  a  new  type  to  him.  She  was  a  girl 
whom  the  white  folks  instinctively  and  universally 
liked.  She  was  quiet  and  not  at  all  inclined  to 
flamboyancy.  The  coloured  folks  kow-towed. to  her 
poise  and  ungrudgingly  made  a  place  for  her  on  the 
topmost  social  stratum.  She  had  never  been 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        163 

deluged  with  masculine  matrimonial  attention,  and 
it  was  her  frank  disbelief  in  her  own  colossal  luck 
which  kept  her  head  on  her  shoulders  until  she 
had  Aaron  hooked  and  landed  high  and  dry.  And 
wiggling. 

During  the  first  week  of  his  cyclonic  courtship 
Aaron  Segar  struggled  heroically  to  keep  from  her 
ears  any  morsel  of  gossip  pertaining  to  his  relations 
with  the  four  amorous  kitchen  empresses  at  the 
Glen  Ridge  apartments.  And  then  —  because  there 
was  something  about  her  that —  Oh!  well,  you 
know,  a  feller  jes'  cain't  help  talkin' —  he  himself 
told  her! 

She  listened  attentively  and  with  his  final  ab- 
jectly despairing  words  disengaged  the  hand  he 
had  been  clutching. 

"  Now,  honey  .  .  ."  he  pleaded. 

"  How  I  to  know  I  am'  jes'  the  fif ,  Aaron?  " 

"  You  is  the  fust." 

"  Bein'  engage'  is  a  kind  of  a  habit  what  you  is 
got,  ain't  it?  " 

"  'Tis  now,  sweetness.  Befo',  'twas  jes'  a  acci- 
dent." 

"  Nev'  heard  of  fo'  things  happenin'  jes'  so  acci- 
dental." 

"  Did  with  me,  hon !  Them  they  wimmin  jes' 
woul'n't  lemme  'lone." 

"  Huh !  They  sho'  Lawd  must've  been  hahd  up 
fo'  a  man." 

"  Tha's  right,  sweetness ;  that  shuah  is  right. 
They  must  of  been  pow'ful  hahd  up  fo'  a  man." 

The  completeness  of  his  abnegation  curbed  her 
sarcasm.  She  was  really  sorry  for  Aaron  and  gen- 
uinely jealous  on  her  own  account  for  she  admitted 


164  POLISHED  EBONY 

to  herself  what  she  was  wise  enough  to  keep  from 
Aaron  —  she  fairly  worshipped  him  and  above  all 
else  in  the  world  she  desired  to  become  Mrs.  Aaron 
Segar.  She  wanted  Aaron,  but  she  wanted  him 
free  of  encumbrances  or  prior  lien.  Furthermore 
she  had  no  intentions  of  'lowin'  no  fo'  brown  hus- 
sies to  make  fumadiddles  with  the  man  what  she 
was  'gage'  to!  All  of  which  she  confided  in  her- 
self. To  Aaron  she  merely  presented  a  terse  ulti- 
matum. 

"  I  ain't  gwine  live  in  the  Glen  Ridge  pahtments, 
Aaron,  twell  them  wimmin  is  went." 

"  You  sho'  ain't !  "  he  echoed  with  vast  sincerity. 

"  So  what  you  is  got  to  do  befo'  you  make  any 
mo'  marriage  talk  with  me  is  to  git  them  away 
fum  there." 

"  Huh !  Whyn't  you  tell  me  to  do  sumpin'  easy 
like  to  buy  a  limmysine  or  sumthin'  ?  " 

"  Guess  if  n  you  was  much  anxious  to  marry  me, 
Aaron,  you'd  git  rid  of  them  wimmin  pretty  quick. 
Once  they  gits  away  fum  there  they  ain't  gwine 
bother  you  no  mo'." 

"  I  wants  to  git  rid  of  them,  hon.  But  how  I  is 
gwine  do  it?  " 

"  Ain't  they  a  old  sayin',  Aaron,  'bout  true  love 
knows  how  things  is  done?  " 

Aaron  scratched  his  head.  "  Reckon  they  is, 
sweetness.  An'  I  sho'  is  got  the  truest  love. 
P'raps  — "  Suddenly  he  smiled.  "  If 'n  I  was  to 
git  a  good  idee,  lone,  reckon  you'd  help  me  out?  " 

She  nodded.     "  Yep,  Aaron :  reckon  I  would." 

"Then  heah  yo'  chancst  is,  honey.  Lis'en  at 
what  I  got  to  seggest." 

She  listened. 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        165 

Ella  Dungee  descended  from  apartment  6  of  the 
Glen  Ridge  to  the  back  court  where  for  five  min- 
utes she  sought  Aaron  Segar.  Failing  to  discover 
him  she  made  her  disgruntled  way  to  the  street. 
Once  she  had  completely  departed  Aaron  detached 
himself  from  the  shadows  of  the  section  B  stairway 
and  mounted  to  apartment  6  where  he  presented 
himself,  hat  in  hand,  to  Mrs.  Jacob  Hammond. 

"  Mawnin',  Mis'  Hammond." 

"  Good  morning,  Aaron." 

"  I  brung  up  some  of  that  roach  powder.  Beg- 
gin'  yo'  pahdon,  Mis'  Hammond — "  as  he  cast  a 
critical  eye  about  the  kitchen,  " — but  the  tenints 
is  all  'cusin'  the  roaches  of  stahtin'  heah  on  'count 
— 'count — "  he  paused  discreetly. 

"  On  account  of  what?  " 

"  On  'count  Ella  don't  keep  the  kitchen  so  awful 
clean.  Scusin'  me  sayin'  that,  Mis'  Hammond  — 
'tain't  meant  fo'  no  'flection  on  you,  but  — " 

"  What  you  say  is  all  true,  Aaron.  For  the  past 
two  or  three  weeks  Ella  has  been  a  changed  girl. 
I  don't  understand  her  at  all.  I'm  not  admitting 
it  outside,  but  she  has  grown  lazy  and  shiftless  and 
indifferent  and  of  recent  weeks  she  has  kept  my 
kitchen  looking  like  a  pigpen." 

"  Yassum  —  she  do  that,  sho'  nuff,  Mis'  Ham- 
mond. I'se  a  clean  man  myse'f  an'  I  loves  clean- 
ity,  an'  I  says  to  myse'f  Ella  ain't  the  good  cleaner 
what  she  useter  be.  Tha's  what  troubles  all  these 
heah  se'vants,  Mis'  Hammond:  they  ain't  know 
how  to  'preciate  a  good  job  with  quality  folks  like 
what  you  an'  Mistuh  Hammond  is.  Come  they  to 
git  use'  to  it  an'  they  c'mences  stayin'  home  or  else 
they  gits  lazy  an'  shif 'less  — " 


166  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  And  Ella  isn't  the  only  one,"  said  Mrs.  Ham- 
mond wrathily.  "  Mrs.  Gray's  Fashion  and  Mrs. 
Connor's  Mallissie  — " 

"Hmph!"  disdainfully.  "  M'lissie  is  got  the 
stayin'  home  fever,  sho'  nuff,  Mis'  Hammond.  I 
kep'  a-tellin'  her  an'  a-tellin'  her  she  di'n't  'pre- 
ciate  a  nice  place  like  what  she  had  with  Mis'  Con- 
nor, but  shucks!  she  ain't  no  dif'ent  fum  these 
other  new-f angle'  coloured  gals  —  none  of  'em  ain't 
know  when  they  is  got  sumthin'  good." 

"  But  what  can  we  do  about  it? "  exclaimed 
the  good  lady  hopelessly.  "  We  must  have  serv- 
ants." 

"  Tha's  so,  Mis'  Hammond :  that  shuah  is  so. 
Mis'  Connor  been  make  that  ve'y  indentital  remark 
this  mawnin'  w'en  I  tell  her  that  M'lissie  warn't 
no  mo'  sick  yestiddy  than  whut  I  is  now.  She 
say  —  jes'  like  what  you  said:  'I  got  to  have  a 
gal,'  she  say.  Tha's  how  come  I  to  git  her  Lily 
Belle." 

"  You  obtained  a  new  servant  for  Mrs.  Connor?  " 

"  Yassum,  on  'count  M'lissie  was  gittin'  so  wuth- 
less." 

Mrs.  Hammond  wrung  her  hands.  "  If  you 
knew  of  a  competent  servant,  Aaron,  why  didn't 
you  tell  me?  If  I  could  only  get  the  right  sort  of 
a  girl  I  wouldn't  stand  Ella  another  day." 

Aaron's  face  brightened  perceptibly.  "  They's 
Lily  Belle's  sister,  now  — " 

"  Lily  Belle  has  a  sister?  " 

"  Yassum  —  an'  seein'  Lily  Belle  is  mebbe  gwine 
wuk  fo'  Mis'  Connor,  I  been  thinkin'  Sarah  might 
like  to  wuk  heah.  Co'se  Sarah's  a  better  gal'n 
what  Lily  Belle  is  — " 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        167 

"What  is  she  like,  Aaron.  Tell  me  all  about 
her  —  please !  " 

"Huh!  I  been  knowin'  Lily  Belle  an'  Sarah 
sencst  they  was  knee-high  to  a  pair  of  ducks,  Mis' 
Hammond.  They  ain't  nuthin'  tall  like  the  niggers 
what  clutters  up  these  heah  kitchens.  Ain't 
nuthin'  fancy  'bout  'em  an'  they  ain't  got  the  haids 
all  full  up  of  sassiety.  Both  them  gals  is  the  best 
cooks  whut  is:  waffles  whut  melts  in  yo'  mouf  an' 
broilin'  steaks  so's  they's  all  charred  on  the  yout- 
side  an'  rare  in  the  middle.  An'  they's  the  clean- 
est gals  whut  is.  They  even  keeps  they  own  rooms 
clean,  Mis'  Hammond,  an'  w'en  a  coloured  gal 
keeps  her  own  rooms  clean,  she  is  some  cleanin'  gal 
an'  tha's  the  truth.  Ain't  neither  of  'em  no  flossy 
dressers  but  they's  pow'ful  neat  an'  tidy,  an' — 
nuther  thing  —  they  gits  to  wuk  early! " 

"  There  isn't  a  day  of  the  past  two  weeks  that 
Ella  has  gotten  here  before  twenty  minutes  to 
eight." 

"Law',  Mis'  Hammond  —  Sarah  an'  Lily  Belle 
ain't  know  whut  'tis  to  git  to  no  place  of  wuk 
later'n  six-thutty.  Las'  lady  Sarah  wuk  fo'  useter 
tell  me  that  when  she'n  her  husband  come  out  to 
breakfus'  eight  o'clock  all  the  house'd  be  cleaned 
up  an'  breakfus'  on  table  an'  a  fancy  salid  made 
fo'  lunch.  But  I'se  tellin'  you  right  now,  fair  an' 
hones',  Mis'  Hammond  —  Sarah  ain't  gwine  wuk 
fo'  no  th'ee-fifty  a  week  less'n  it's  gwine  be  a  pum- 
manent  place." 

Mrs.  Jacob  Hammond  sighed.  A  nonpareil  —  a 
quiet,  efficient  servant  who  wanted  a  permanent 
place !  "I  —  I  didn't  know  there  were  any  serv- 
ants like  that  any  more,  Aaron." 


168  POLISHED  EBONY 

"They  ain't,  Mis'  Hammond  —  on'y  Lily  Belle 
an'  Sarah.  Beckon  you'd  like  to  make  talk  with 
Sarah?" 

"  I  certainly  would.  And  you  may  tell  her  in 
advance,  Aaron,  that  if  I  like  her  appearance  I  will 
start  her  in  at  four  dollars  a  week  with  every 
Sunday  afternoon  off.  When  can  I  see  her?  " 

"  I'se  gwine  bring  Lily  Belle  'roun'  heah  at  seven 
o'clock  t'night,  Mis'  Hammond  —  so's  she  c'n  make 
talk  with  Mis'  Connor.  I  cou'd  bring  Sarah  then." 

"  Please  do." 

Aaron  grew  cautious.  "You  sho'  Ella's  gwine 
be  gone  by  that  time?  Bein'  janitor  heah  I  cain't 
'ford  to  have  these  heah  cooks  knowin'  I  been  but- 
tin'  on  they  business.  Woul'n't  do  it  nohow  on'y 
I  think  so  much  of  you  an'  Mistuh  Hammond." 

"  I  understand,  Aaron  —  and  I  appreciate  your 
interest  tremendously.  Here's  fifty  cents  for  you. 
I  just  simply  can't  tell  you  how  grateful  I  am  — " 

"Tha's  all  right,  Mis'  Hammond.  Nev'  min' 
'bout  that  fo'  bits." 

"  But  you  must  take  it." 

He  fingered  the  coin  affectionately.  "No'm — 
I  feel  like  it'd  be  an  intrusion." 

"  You  really  must  take  that  money,  Aaron.  This 
servant  question  is  such  a  problem  — " 

"  Yassum,"  rejoined  Aaron  fervently,  as  he 
dropped  the  coin  into  his  pocket,  "  yo'  sho'  said 
sumthin'  that  time,  Mis'  Hammond." 

He  was  whistling  as  he  made  his  way  down- 
stairs. He  was  humming  happily  at  eight-thirty 
that  night  as  he  sat  in  the  street  car  with  lone 
Drought  en  route  for  Champion  Moving  Picture 
Theatre  Number  2.  And  just  about  that  time  Mrs. 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        169 

Jacob  Hammond  dropped  in  informally  on  Mrs. 
Percival  Connor.  Both  good  ladies  were  all  of  a 
flutter. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Connor  —  I  have  just  engaged 
a  treasure :  a  veritable  treasure !  " 

Mrs.  Connor  smiled.  "  Aaron  was  telling  me  all 
about  it.  I  have  engaged  Lily  Belle  at  four  dollars 
a  week.  She  offered  to  start  in  at  three-fifty, 
but—" 

"  I'm  starting  Sarah  at  the  same  wages.  I 
haven't  felt  so  relieved  and  happy  over  the  servant 
question  in  all  my  married  life.  I  don't  know  if 
Lily  Belle  is  anything  like  her  sister,  but  if  she  is, 
she  looks  like  a  perfect  gem." 

"And  she  talks  so  intelligently.  None  of  the 
society  airs  which  irritate  me  so.  She  agreed  to 
come  Monday  morning  and  Aaron  vouched  for  her 
appearance  promptly  at  six-thirty." 

"  Sarah  starts  in  with  me  Monday  morning,  too. 
I'm  going  to  discharge  Ella  Sunday  afternoon  when 
I  pay  her  off." 

"  I  shall  do  the  same  thing  with  Mallissie.  I  feel 
that  we  are  very  fortunate,  my  dear." 

"  We  are.  And  we  mustn't  forget  to  be  grateful 
to  Aaron  for  our  good  luck." 

The  following  morning  Aaron  Segar  entered  the 
kitchen  of  Mrs.  Charles  Gray.  He  was  patently 
perturbed.  "  Mis'  Gray  —  I  b'lieves  in  a  man  doin' 
his  duty." 

"Yes,  Aaron,  so  do  I.  What  is  the  trouble 
now?  " 

"  Ain't  nothin'  the  trouble  now,  Mis'  Gray.  On'y 
if  n  them  chillun  of  your'n  had  of  been  killed  by 
that  truck  they'd  of  been  trouble  a-plenty." 


170  POLISHED  EBONY 

Mrs.  Gray  stiffened.  She  clutched  weakly  at  the 
edge  of  the  kitchen  table.  "  What  are  you  talking 
about,  Aaron?  " 

"  'Bout  what  happen  jes'  now  down  to  Five 
Points.  I  been  comin'  'crost  the  circle  fum  the 
grocer-shop  an'  a  big  ol'  truck  been  takin'  the  curve 
at  about  thutty  mile  an  hour.  An'  who  should 
I  see  rompin'  right  'crost  the  middle  of  that  street 
but  yo'  two  chill  un !  " 

"My  God!    Aaron—" 

"'Tain't  nothin'  to  worry  'bout,  Mis'  Gray.  I 
grab  'em  an'  pull  'em  back  befo'  the  truck  done 
hit  'em.  On'y  it  kind  of  made  me  mad,  'cause  if  n 
that  Fashi'n  Wilson  had  of  been  watchin'  them 
'stead  of  makin'  monkey  eyes  with  ol'  Florian  Slap- 
pey  who  was  loafin'  'roun'  there,  then  mebbe  you 
woulVt  of  almos'  had  no  chillun  lef  a  tall." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Aaron,  that  Fashion 
allowed  those  two  little  darlings  to  walk  alone  into 
the  middle  of  the  street?  Is  that  what  you  mean, 
Aaron?  " 

"  'Tain't  none  of  my  business,  Mis'  Gray.  .  .  ." 

"  It  is  your  business,  Aaron.  Human  life  is 
everybody's  business.  I've  suspected  for  some  time 
that  Fashion  is  very  derelict  in  the  way  she  looks 
after  the  children.  Why,  do  you  know,  Aaron, 
that  sometimes  they  come  home  actually  bruised 
and  scratched  where  they  have  fallen  down?" 

"  Tchk!    Sho'  nuff ,  now,  Mis'  Gray !  " 

"  That  really  is  so.     Fashion  is  hopeless." 

"  She  ain't  no  wuss'n  all  the  other  city  nu'ses, 
Mis'  Gray,"  defended  Aaron  stoutly.  "  All  of  'em 
lets  the  chillun  run  wild.  It's  a  Gawd's  mercy 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        171 

they  ain't  kilt  ev'y  day.  'Co'se  maybe  Fashi'n  is 
a  li'l  mite  mo'  careless'n  them  other  nu'ses,  'cause 
this  ain't  by  no  means  the  fust  time  I've  saw  — " 

Mrs.  Gray  collapsed  limply.  "  I  simply  cannot 
tell  you  how  much  I  appreciate  this,  Aaron." 

"  Tha's  all  right,  Mis'  Gray.  'Co'se  I'd  be  'bliged 
if'n  you  woul'n't  mention  to  Fashi'n  was  me  that 
tol'  you  — " 

"  I  won't,  Aaron ;  I  won't.  But  what  am  I  to 
do?  I'm  not  a  strong  woman,  Aaron,  and  I  can't 
run  this  apartment  and  take  care  of  those  two 
children  alone." 

"  Guess  they  ain't  nothin'  you  c'n  do,  Mis'  Gray. 
Less'n  you  could  git  hoi'  of  a  gal  like  Pansy." 

"  Who  is  Pansy?  " 

"  Gal  I  been  knowin'  fo'  yeahs.  She  ain't  high- 
falutin'  like  Fashi'n  an'  these  other  gals  'roun'  the 
Glen  Ridge.  She's  a  Georgy  nigger.  Las'  job  she 
had  was  fo'  a  lady  what  had  a  'pahtment  one  room 
bigger'n  what  you  is  got  —  an'  th'ee  chillun. 
Pansy  useter  do  all  the  cookin'  an'  the  housewuk 
an'  take  care  of  the  two  oldest  chilluns  fo'  brawtus 
an'  she  useter  say  to  me :  '  Aaron,  the  wuk  heah 
is  so  easy  I  kinder  hates  to  take  my  week's  wages.' 
Yassum,  tha's  'zactly  what  she  useter  say,  Mis' 
Gray." 

"Where  — where  is  Pansy  now?" 

"  Bight  heah  in  town,  Mis'  Gray.  She's  kind  of 
lookin'  fo'  a  pummanent  job.' 

"Aaron!" 

A  few  minutes  later  Aaron  descended  the  steps, 
wealthier  by  a  dollar.  "  Yassum,"  he  called  back 
cheerily,  "  I'll  bring  Pansy  heah  t'night  shuah  at 


172  POLISHED  EBONY 

seven-thutty  —  after  Fashi'n  is  gone.  An'  if  n  you 
like  her  I  reckon  she  c'n  come  to  wuk  Monday 
mawnin'." 

Before  he  reached  the  basement  he  was  inter- 
cepted by  Mrs.  Franklin  Carruthers,  who  sum- 
moned him  to  apartment  17.  "Aaron,  did  you 
succeed  in  seeing  Mary?  " 

"  Yassum,  I  seen  Mary,  sho'  nuff." 

"  Did  she  have  a  place?  " 

"  No'm,  she  ain't  had  no  place.  Course'n  she 
had  offers,  but  Mary's  right  'tic'lar  an'  she  wants 
a  pummanent  place." 

"Do  you  think  she'll  work  for  me,  Aaron?  Do 
you  —  really?" 

"  Sho'  does,  Mis'  C'ruthers.  I  does,  sho'  nuff  — 
an'  that  ain't  no  lie.  Mary  most'n  always  goes  by 
my  adwice.  She  says  she'll  be  heah  t'night  at  eight 
o'clock  sha'p  —  soon's  she's  sho'  Gussie  Muck  is 
gone.  An'  then  if  you  likes  her  you  c'n  let  Gussie 
go  when  you  pays  her  off  on  Sunday  an'  Mary'll  be 
heah  Monday  mawnin'  sha'p  at  six-thutty." 

"  I'm  so  grateful  to  you,  Aaron.  I'll  confess  to 
you  that  Gussie  was  getting  positively  unbearable. 
I  didn't  see  how  I  could  continue  to  put  up  with 
her,  but  in  these  days  of  servant  famine  I  couldn't 
see  my  way  clear  to  letting  her  go.  You,  Aaron, 
have  been  my  Aladdin." 

"  Yassum,  I  sho'  have.  You  done  said  it  that 
time.  An'  I  understand  jes'  how  you  feel.  Gussie 
Muck  is  one  mo'  wuthless  gal.  But  Mary !  Hones', 
Mis'  C'ruthers,  that  gal'd  ruther  cook  an'  clean 
house  than  eat,  an'  that  sho'  is  the  truth.  Yassum 
—  jes'  sho's  my  name's  Aaron  Segar !  " 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        173 

On  Sunday  afternoon  the  Mesdames  Carruthers, 
Connor,  Gray  and  Hammond  discharged  the  four 
fiances  of  Aaron  Segar.  On  Sunday  night  the  four 
worthy  ladies  retired  early  that  Monday  morning 
might  sooner  arrive.  They  were  bulwarked  behind 
the  happy  thought  that  this  glorious  Monday  morn- 
ing was  to  bring  to  each  of  them  a  servant  who 
desired  nothing  so  much  as  hard  and  permanent 
work. 

Early  Monday  morning  the  Mesdames  Carruth- 
ers, Connor,  Gray  and  Hammond  opened  their  eyes 
upon  a  sky  of  gray  overcast  with  low-hanging, 
swiftly-scudding  clouds.  Each  became  aware  of  a 
void.  Mrs.  Charles  Gray  was  first  in  action.  Her 
two  children  were  yelling  lustily  for  the  dear  de- 
parted Fashion. 

Aaron  Segar  was  summoned  to  the  kitchen  of 
each  of  the  four  ladies  in  turn.  To  each  he  made 
the  same  shocked  speech  — 

"I  'clare  to  goodness  gracious  if'n  that  gal 
don't  beat  all  creation.  Spec'  they  ain't  no  gals 
you  c'n  trus'.  Take  my  oaf  I'd  of  swore  she'd  be 
heah  this  mawnin'  fust  crack  of  day.  I'se  mighty 
sorry  'cause  tha's  what  makes  white  folks  look 
down  on  us  coloured  people  w'en  we  treats  you -all 
like  that.  Downright  shame  —  tha's  what  I  calls 
it." 

To  each  he  gave  a  solemn  promise  to  search  for 
the  delinquent  treasure;  to  each  he  reported  two 
hours  later  that  she  was  not  to  be  found.  Where- 
upon four  highly-nervous  and  thoroughly  disgrun- 
tled ladies  entered  four  automobiles  and  placatingly 
sought  four  discharged  servants  —  only  to  discover 


174  POLISHED  EBONY 

that  they  had  obtained  overnight  easier  positions 
at  greater  wages. 

That  day  and  the  next  and  the  next  there  was  a 
pall  of  gloom  over  apartments  six,  nine,  fourteen 
and  seventeen.  They  didn't  blame  Aaron.  In  fact, 
they  were  sorry  for  him,  he  was  so  evidently  cut  up 
over  the  defection  of  his  four  servants.  He  railed 
against  the  quartet  in  particular  and  the  genus 
housegirl  in  general. 

But  in  the  privacy  of  his  basement  apartment 
there  was  no  hint  of  gloom.  By  some  miracle  it 
had  worked.  Gussie  and  Mallissie  and  Fashion 
and  Ella  had  departed  for  sections  of  the  city  un- 
known. Small  likelihood  that  they  would  bother 
him  further  now  that  the  dangerous  element  of 
propinquity  had  been  removed.  He  was  by  nature 
sufficiently  insouciant  to  worry  over  the  troubles 
of  the  immediate  present  only.  Once  again  life 
had  taken  unto  itself  a  roseate  hue :  a  hue  which  it 
retained  until  Thursday  afternoon. 

On  Thursday  afternoon  Aaron  Segar,  elegantly 
groomed,  paraded  proudly  up  Highland  Avenue 
with  the  beloved  lone  on  his  arm.  He  had  eyes  for 
nothing  save  her  radiance  and  her  orbs  were  mod- 
estly downcast  which  is  why  neither  of  them  had 
an  opportunity  to  dodge  Mrs.  Jacob  Hammond  who 
veered  around  the  corner  of  Arlington  Avenue  and 
clutched  lone  by  the  arm. 

"  Sarah !  "  cried  Mrs.  Hammond. 

"  Y-y-yassum !  "  gasped  lone. 

"Where  in  the  world  have  you  been?  Why 
didn't  you  come  to  work  Monday?  " 

"I  —  I  been  sick,"  faltered  lone.  Aaron  rallied 
loquaciously  to  her  support. 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        175 

"Yassum  —  she  been  sick,  sho'  nuff.  Jes'  met 
her,  I  did,  an'  I  was  givin'  her  a  talkin'-to  on  ac- 
count she  didn't  show  up  fo'  wuk  like  she  says  she 
was  gwine  do,  an'  she  tell  me  she  been  sick.  If  n 
you  don'  b'lieve  it  you  c'n  call  Florian  Slappey, 
sec'terry  of  The  Sons  &  Daughters  of  I  Will  Arise, 
an'  he'll  tell  you  she's  been  gittin'  her  sick  beny- 
fit."  It  was  a  glorious  bluff,  but  it  worked.  Mrs. 
Hammond  did  not  know  that  coloured  insurance 
fraternities  pay  no  benefits  for  illnesses  lasting  less 
than  one  week. 

"  But  you  are  well  now,  aren't  you,  Sarah?  " 

"  Yassum,  I'se  well  now,"  answered  lone  eagerly. 
"  Well's  I  ev'  was." 

"  And  you  still  want  the  place?  " 

"  If  it's  pummanent,  Mis'  Hammond.  I  was 
gwine  to  see  you  'bout  it  this  evenin'.  .  .  ." 

"  It's  permanent,"  wheedled  Mrs.  Hammond  pa- 
thetically. "  The  position  is  yours  for  ever  if  you 
want  it.  Please  don't  disappoint  me  again.  May 
I  count  on  you  for  tomorrow  morning?  " 

"  You  sho'  c'n.  .  .  ." 

Aaron  gave  a  sudden  gasp  He  clutched  lone's 
wrist.  His  eyes  opened  until  it  seemed  that  they 
must  pop  from  the  sockets.  Small  beads  of  cold 
perspiration  stood  out  on  his  brow.  But  he  was 
too  late.  The  little  car  pulled  up  at  the  curb  and 
the  Mesdames  Franklin  Carruthers  and  Percival 
Connor  alighted.  Each  of  them  pounced  upon  the 
petrified  lone  — 

"  Mary !  "  cried  Mrs.  Carruthers. 

"  Lily  Belle !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Connor. 

"  Uh-huh  .  .  .  yassum  .  .  ."  trembled  lone  weakly. 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  to  work  Monday  morn- 


176  POLISHED  EBONY 

ing? "  chorused  the  newcomers.  lone  said  noth' 
ing.  Aaron  Segar  said  the  same  thing. 

"  There  is  some  mistake,"  cut  in  Mrs.  Hammond 
icily.  "  Isn't  there,  Sarah?  " 

"  Y-y-yassum :  they's  a  mistake." 

"  They  sho'  is  I  "  muttered  Aaron  to  himself. 

"  Why  do  you  persist  in  addressing  her  as 
*  Sarah'?"  interrogated  Mrs.  Connor  frigidly. 
"  Her  name  is  Lily  Belle  and  I  hired  her  to  come 
to  work  for  me  Monday  morning." 

"  But  —  but  — "  groped  Mrs.  Carruthers  blindly, 
"  she  agreed  to  come  to  work  for  me  Monday  morn- 
ing and  she  said  her  name  was  Mary !  " 

Mrs.  Hammond  whirled  on  Aaron.  "  What  is 
the  meaning  of  this?  "  she  snapped. 

Aaron  took  one  wild  glance  at  the  three  faces. 
His  knees  quaked.  His  eyes  rolled  toward  lone, 
girl  of  his  choice.  His  muscular  fingers  tightened 
around  her  arm  and  he  gave  her  a  violent  jerk. 
Man  and  woman,  they  started  up  Arlington  avenue 
at  a  pace  which  should  have  entitled  them  to  the 
heel-and-toe  championship  of  the  world. 

"  S-s-s-see  you-all  ladies  later,"  chattered  Aaron 
over  his  shoulder.  "  We  is  got  to  be  goin' !  " 

Two  blocks  farther  on  they  paused  and  faced  one 
another.  Aaron  mopped  his  face  with  a  lavender 
handkerchief. 

"  lone,"  he  proclaimed  solemnly,  "  I  is  been 
thinkin'." 

"  So  is  I,  Aaron." 

"  I  is  been  thinkin',  lone,  that  mebbe  it  might 
be  po'  business  takin'  you  to  the  Glen  Ridge  'paht- 
ments  to  live." 

"  Reckon  'twould,  Aaron." 


NOT  WISELY  BUT  TOO  WELL        177 

"I  —  I  so't  of  favour  the  idee,  hon,  that  mebbe 
I'll  git  me  a  job  out  to  the  Ensley  steel  mill.  They 
ain't  no  wimmin  out  there.  I  guess  that'd  be  safer 
fo'  a  man  like  what  I  is." 

"  Yes,"  answered  his  bride-to-be  significantly,  "  I 
reckon  it  would !  " 


BACKFIRE 


BACKFIRE 

IS  repeated  myse'f  over  an'  over  again  enough 
times  a1  ready,"  remarked  the  ebony  gentle- 
man  at  the  head  of  the  battered  table,  "  an' 
seems  like  by  this  time  yo'd  see  they  ain't  no  use 
argifyin'  no  further." 

"  But  I  is  the  big  loser,"  mournfully  answered 
the  dandified  young  negro  two  stacks  of  chips  re- 
moved, "  an'  seems  like  yo'd  ought  to  stake  me  some 
—  jes' a  li'l  bit." 

"You  ain't  in  Atlanta,  Mistuh  Stiggars:  this 
heah  place  is  Anniston,  Alabama." 

"  Jes'  a  few  dollars  — ?  " 

"  Reckon  we-all  ain't  in  the  cha'ity  business, 
Mistuh  Stiggars.  If'n  you  want  to  stay  in  this 
heah  game  jes'  tickle  the  bank  with  a  li'l  coin." 

"Huh!  You  know  well's  me  that  Ise  broke. 
Ain't  even  one  of  you  gen'lemen  gwine  len'  me  five 
dollars?  " 

He  glanced  appealingly  around  the  crack-topped 
table.  Five  stony  faces  gave  wordless  answer  of 
negation.  "  Jes'  five  dollars?  Or  fo'?  Or  th'ee? 
Ise  been  sweetenin'  ev'y  pot  — " 

"  Lis'en  heah  to  whut  I  is  savin',  Mistuh  Stig- 
gars: if'n  you  ain't  got  no  mo'  money  you  is  de- 
layin'  the  game.  I  ain't  aimin'  to  keep  none  of 
yo'  glory  fum  you.  You  is  contribbited  'bout  a 
hund'ed  an'  fifty  dollars  — " 

"  Hund'ed  an'  sixty-th'ee,  fifty." 

"An'  s'far's  I  know  they  ain't  nobody  in  this 

181 


182  POLISHED  EBONY 

heah  neighbourhood  gwine  len'  you  no  money  to 
follow  where  that  is  gone  at.  Yo'  credick  would 
be  better,  Brother  Stiggars,  if'n  you  wasn't  sech 
a  rotten  poker  player." 

"  I  ain't  askin'  on'y.  .  .  ." 

The  local  spokesman  caught  sight  of  a  languid 
young  negro  who  leaned  apathetically  against  a 
battered  bureau;  a  young  man  of  superlative  ele- 
gance and  conscious  ego.  From  the  top  of  his 
carefully  brushed  Velour  hat  to  the  tips  of  his  scin- 
tillating russet  shoes,  he  bespoke  affluence  and  con- 
temptuous ennui. 

"  Over  yonder,"  said  the  Annistonian,  indicating 
the  sartorial  triumph  by  the  bureau,  "  is  Mistuh 
Florian  Slappey  of  Bummin'ham.  Brother  Slap- 
pey  has  mo'  money'n  he  knows  what  to  do  with. 
If  n  he  is  foolish  'nough  to  len'  you  some  .  .  ."  and 
the  speaker  shrugged  his  shoulders  to  signify  that 
he  washed  his  hands  of  the  affair. 

Selkirk  Stiggars  shoved  his  chair  back  from  the 
table  and  rose  to  his  six  feet  of  height.  In  ele- 
gance of  dress  he  ran  Florian  a  close  second.  In 
physique  he  was  an  easy  first.  He  towered  men- 
acingly above  the  patently  bored  gentleman  from 
Birmingham  but  in  his  eyes  glowed  a  light  which 
was  unmistakably  composed  of  equal  portions  of 
worry  and  supplication. 

The  five  other  players  meticulously  piled  their 
chips  into  stacks  of  red,  white  and  blue.  A  stran- 
ger had  knocked  upon  their  gates  and  they  had 
taken  him  in  —  good  and  proper.  One  hundred 
and  sixty-three  dollars  and  fifty  cents  of  good  At- 
lanta money  had  enriched  the  coffers  of  five  Annis- 
tonians.  It  had  been  an  epoch-making  windfall. 


BACKFIRE  183 

An  oil  lamp  on  the  washstand  in  the  corner  sent 
its  weak,  flickering  light  to  all  corners  of  the  room, 
playing  weirdly  on  the  set  faces  of  Anniston's 
premier  poker  players,  and  causing  grotesque  shad- 
ows to  dance  on  the  walls.  As  the  stranger  rose 
and  approached  Florian  Slappey  they  allowed 
themselves  to  relax  somewhat  from  the  strain  of 
inflated  stakes  and  bloated  pots. 

"Mistuh  Slappey?" 

Florian's  eyes  were  raised  slowly  without  show 
of  special  interest.  "  Yeh?  " 

"  My  name's  Stiggars  —  Selkirk  Stiggars  of  At- 
lanta. Ise  Past  Gran'  Royal  Mona'ch  of  The  To'ch 
Bearers  of  Glory,  Council  Number  Thutteen.  Is 
you  a  member  of  that  lodge?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Florian  wearily,  "  I  ain't." 

"  Ise  a  K.  P." 

"  I  ain't." 

"  Sho'ly  you  an'  me  is  feller  Masons?  " 

"  Nope." 

"  I  b'longs  to  the  Baptis'  chu'ch." 

"  Ise  a  Methodis'." 

The  lack  of  fraternity  was  appalling.  The  stran- 
ger was  forced  to  a  new  tack.  "  Is  you  the  Flo'ian 
Slappey  what  won  twen'y-five  hund'ed  dollars  in 
the  Pool  an'  Ginuwine  lott'ry  'bout  six  weeks  ago?  " 

"  Ise  him,"  answered  Florian  with  a  hint  of  par- 
donable hauteur. 

Stiggars'  hand  caught  that  of  Florian  and 
crushed  it.  "  I  is  sho'  d'lighted  to  meet  up  with 
you,  Mistuh  Slappey.  I  sho'  is.  We  is  heard  'bout 
you  over  to  Atlanta." 

"That  so?" 

"  Co'se!    Sech  a  spoht  as  you  is.  .  .  ." 

«..« v "  ^1 


184  POLISHED  EBONY 

"We  ain't  nev'  heard  of  you  over  to  Bummin'- 
ham." 

Selkirk  Stiggars  was  momentarily  nonplussed. 
Nothing  seemed  to  pique  Florian's  interest:  not 
even  the  Open  Sesame  of  flattery.  Selkirk  made  a 
direct  frontal  attack.  "  Ise  broke." 

"  You  sho'  ac'  thataway." 

"  But  luck's  jes'  beginuin'  to  break  my  way  — " 

"  Yeh !  I  noticed  them  fo'  nines  you  jes'  held 
'gainst  that  straight  flush." 

" —  An'  if 'n  I  c'n  borry  five  dollars  — " 

"  My  business  is  real  'state  —  not  money  lendin'." 

With  the  dexterity  of  a  master  of  legerdemain, 
Mr.  Selkirk  Stiggars  detached  from  his  cerise  scarf 
a  veritable  headlight.  "  This  heah  di'mon',  Misto' 
Slappey,  is  guaranteed  fo'teen  carat." 

"  Hmph !     Guaranteed  by  which?  " 

"  By  the  jooller  which  sol'  it  to  me." 

"  I  ain't  even  know  his  name." 

" — An'  ifn  yo'll  lemme  have  fifty  dollars  on  it 
fo'  jes'  'bout  twen'y  minutes — " 

"  Haw ! "  ejaculated  Florian  with  ponderous 
irony.  "  Reckon  you  thinks  I  is  a  Anniston  nigger 
sho'  nuff." 

"  I'll  add  this  to  the  s'curity,"  and  Selkirk  slipped 
a  twin  diamond  from  a  finger  of  the  left  hand. 

If  Florian  was  impressed  by  the  glittering  bril- 
liance he  gave  no  sign.  He  produced  a  silver- 
plated  cigarette  case  from  his  pocket,  extracted 
therefrom  a  Turkish  cigarette  which  he  tapped  re- 
flectively on  his  fingernail  and  then  lighted  with 
exasperating  lack  of  haste.  He  inhaled  deeply  and 
blew  a  puff  of  the  fragrant  smoke  into  the  face  of 
Mr.  Selkirk  Stiggars. 


BACKFIRE  185 

"  Not  a  thing  stirrin',"  he  responded  briefly. 

"Them  di'mon's— " 

"  Nev'  did  like  di'mon's." 

"  You  ain't  'sinuatin' — ?  " 

"  I  ain't  'sinuatin'  nothin',  'ceptin'  Flo'rian  Slap- 
pey  ain't  never  takes  no  chancsts." 

Selkirk  Stiggars  gazed  hopelessly  about  the 
dingy,  dusty  room  with  its  battered  furniture  and 
its  curtains  discreetly  drawn  against  the  prying 
eyes  of  the  police.  The  atmosphere  was  redolent 
of  the  odour  of  vile  cigars,  the  room  clouded  with 
the  rancid  smoke.  One  of  the  fortunate  poker 
players  seized  the  moment  to  rattle  a  stack  of  blue 
chips.  The  clicking  of  what  had  recently  been 
his  money  was  too  much  for  Selkirk. 

He  had  driven  into  Anniston  that  evening  from 
Atlanta  behind  the  wheel  of  a  handsome  limousine ; 
one  hundred  and  sixty-four  dollars  in  his  pockets. 
Fifty  cents  had  gone  for  dinner  and  the  balance 
had  been  his  admission  ticket  to  a  poker  game. 
Selkirk  had  entered  that  poker  game  very  confident 
that  he  would  win  a  comfortable  amount,  lord  it 
over  the  provincial  darkies  for  a  while  and  then  seek 
new  pastures.  And  now  eleven  o'clock  had  come 
and  he  was  as  clean  of  money  as  a  fish  of  legs,  his 
credit  rating  unknown,  his  scintillant  collateral 
gazed  upon  with  frank  distrust.  He  was  a  stran- 
ger in  a  strange  land. 

Without  money  he  was  helpless.  So  too  was  the 
limousine  which  he  had  driven  royally  into  Annis- 
ton, for  money  means  gasoline  for  the  tank  and  oil 
for  the  crank-case,  and  the  automobile  was  sadly 
bereft  of  both. 

The  car!    The  car  was  worth  money,     So  was 


186  POLISHED  EBONY 

Plorian.  He  clutched  his  unwilling  benefactor  by 
the  shoulder  with  a  grip  which  caused  Florian  to 
wince  and  shoved  him  toward  the  door.  "  If  its 
jes'  s'curity  you  is  after,  Mistuh  Slappey.  .  .  ." 

"  Reckon  you  ain't  got  no  s'curity  I  is  interest' 
in." 

"Huh!     Guess  I  is." 

"Whar 'tis?" 

"  Outside." 

Florian's  eyes  narrowed.     "  Outside?  " 

"  My  automobile !  " 

"Huh?" 

"  Heah's  the  how  of  it,  Mistuh  Slappey.  I  done 
'scovered  that  these  heah  small-town  niggers  don' 
know  nothing  'bout  poker.  Craps  is  they  game. 
But  poker  —  the  reason  they  is  won  fum  me  is 
'cause  I  was  gittin'  onto  they  system.  If'n  I  gits 
me  another  stake  I'll  clean  'em  flat.  You  c'n  see 
that,  sho' — it's  plain  as  a  nigger  in  a  snowstorm. 
But  I  needs  that  other  stake,  Brother  Slappey,  an' 
I  is  willin'  to  take  a  chancst  — " 

"  I  ain't." 

" —  Nor  neither  I  ain't  askin'  you  to.  Seein'  as 
you  won't  'cept  my  di'mon's  as  s'curity,  how  'bout 
lendin'  me  five  hund'ed  on  that  car?  " 

Florian  hesitated  —  and  was  lost.  Ever  since 
he  had  come  into  possession  of  twenty-five  hundred 
dollars  by  a  lucky  lottery  guess  he  had  yearned 
passionately  for  an  automobile  of  his  very  own. 
But  automobiles  come  high  and  Florian  was  fair 
canny.  He  wanted  the  car.  .  .  . 

"  Reckon  you  think  I  is  a  millionaire." 

"  Five  hund'ed  — " 


BACKFIRE  187 

" — Is  five  hund'ed.  An'  b'sides,  I  don't  carry 
that  much  with  me  —  usually." 

"  How  much  is  you  got?  " 

Florian  shrugged.  "  Dunno  .  .  .  but  I'm  sho' 
'tain't  more'n  two  hund'ed." 

The  minds  of  the  two  men  leaped  to  opposite  con- 
clusions from  the  one  premise.  Selkirk  Stiggars 
was  a  poker  egomaniac  and  was  gripped  by  an 
overpowering  hunch.  He  knew  that  with  a  stake 
of  two  hundred  dollars  he  could  win  back  all  that 
he  had  lost  —  and  a  good  deal  more.  He  wasn't 
selling  the  car  —  it  would  merely  become  a  bail- 
ment in  the  hands  of  Florian  Slappey :  a  pawn  for 
a  few  hours. 

Florian  figured  contrariwise.  A  keen  analyst  of 
his  fellow-beings  he  recognized  in  the  egocentric 
Mr.  Stiggars  a  fully  developed  individual  of  the 
genus  sucker.  And  he  knew  that  if  he  could  se- 
cure the  limousine  —  which  he  had  previously  ex- 
amined very  carefully  and  appraised  as  worth  not 
a  cent  less  than  fifteen  hundred  dollars  —  for  two 
hundred,  it  would  become  his  property  at  that  price. 

"  Two  hund'ed  ain't  nothin',"  sneered  Stiggars. 

"  You  'spec'  to  git  it  back,  don't  you  ?  " 

«  Sho'." 

"  You  ain't  sellin'  it  to  me.  What's  it  matter 
how  much  you  gits  on  it  if'n  you  gwine  redeem  it 
right  back?  I  take  the  car  an'  give  you  two  hun- 
d'ed. You  c'n  git  that  they  car  back  fum  me  any 
time  befo'  seven  'clock  tomorrow  mawnin'  by  payin' 
me  two  hund'ed  an'  tweu'y-five  dollars  —  cash 
money." 

They    haggled.     They    argyfied.     They    finally 


188  POLISHED  EBONY 

reached  a  decision  —  Florian's  decision.  He  had 
been  wise  enough  to  discern  that  all  of  the  aces  were 
in  his  hand  and  he  played  them.  He  gave  Mr.  Sel- 
kirk Stiggars  two  hundred  dollars  and  directed  the 
attention  of  the  assemblage  to  the  terms  of  the 
transaction.  The  two  hundred  dollars  represented 
a  loan  for  which  the  limousine  stood  unprotestingly 
as  security.  The  time  limit  for  redeeming  the 
pledge  was  seven  o'clock  the  following  morning. 
Failure  to  redeem  within  the  time  limit  acted  as 
an  automatic  conveyance  in  fee  simple  to  Florian 
Slappey.  But  before  turning  back  to  the  poker 
table,  the  disgruntled  Stiggars,  acutely  aware  of 
the  fact  that  he  was  a  victim  of  business  acumen 
and  adverse  circumstance,  transfixed  Florian  with 
a  stare  which  caused  that  gentleman  to  tremble 
beneath  his  silk  shirt. 

"  'Member  this  in  yo'  haid,  Mistuh  Slappey  —  Ise 
a  man  of  my  word  and  you  is  got  to  be  a  man  of 
your'n.  If  n  you  sh'd  be  so  unfortinate  as  to  try 
any  fumadiddles  with  me,  jes'  don'  forgit  that  I 
warned  you  I  was  plumb  bad  —  bad  all  the  way 
th'ough." 

The  ensuing  hours  proved  that  he  had  spoken 
part  truth  at  least.  He  was  certainly  a  bad  poker 
player  —  bad  all  the  way  through.  At  three  min- 
utes after  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  game 
disbanded  after  a  heart-breaking  hand  which 
started  at  6:56  in  which  Selkirk  Stiggars  held  an 
ace-high  flush  against  a  pat  full  house  —  kings  up. 
Better  men  than  Stiggars  have  been  fooled  into  be- 
lieving a  pat  full  meant  a  low  flush  or  straight. 
But  none  have  been  fooled  more  thoroughly  from 
a  financial  point  of  view. 


BACKFIRE  189 

Florian  yawned.  He  oozed  through  the  door  and 
into  the  street.  He  approached  the  limousine  — 
his  limousine.  He  stepped  within  and  tentatively 
poked  the  luxurious  upholstery.  It  was  the  crown- 
ing touch  of  affluence.  He  touched  the  starter  but- 
ton and  the  rythmic  hum  of  the  motor  wafted  back 
to  his  ears  in  pleasing  symphony. 

On  the  sidewalk  stood  Selkirk  Stiggars,  com- 
pletely surrounded  by  the  gentlemen  who  had  re- 
lieved him  of  his  money.  Selkirk's  cerise  necktie 
was  awry,  his  hat  was  crushed  and  shoved  back 
upon  his  bullet  head,  there  was  blood  in  his  eye. 
The  strong  breeze  of  early  morning  whipped  back 
his  coat  and  Florian  caught  a  disquieting  bulge  in 
the  right  hip  pocket.  Floriau  had  a  constitutional 
aversion  to  hip  pockets  which  bulged,  nor  did  he 
relish  the  glare  which  Selkirk  Stiggars  furnished 
gratis.  Florian  reached  a  decision.  He  de- 
cided to  place  a  maximum  of  distance  between 
himself  and  Mr.  Stiggars  in  a  minimum  of 
time. 

He  waved  an  insouciant  farewell  and  wisely 
restrained  a  gay  little  pleasantry  having  to  do  with 
Mr.  Stiggars'  poker-playing  abilities.  He  let  in  the 
gears  and  the  car  rolled  ahead.  Something 
prompted  Florian  to  keep  his  eyes  straight  to  the 
front.  He  mounted  a  gentle  acclivity  at  high 
speed  and  not  until  he  hit  the  descent  on  the  other 
side  of  the  ridge  was  he  able  to  shake  himself  free 
from  the  menace  of  the  Stiggars'  stare. 

At  a  filling  station  on  the  outskirts  of  Anniston 
he  replenished  his  gas  tank  and  filled  his  crank 
case.  Then  he  headed  for  the  open  country  and 
let  the  car  out,  reclining  luxuriously  against  the 


190  POLISHED  EBONY 

cushions  and  revelling  in  an  intoxicating  feeling 
of  proprietorship. 

He  made  the  journey  from  Anniston  to  Birming- 
ham in  record  time.  He  parked  his  car  at  dark- 
town's  civic  centre:  Eighteenth  street,  north,  be- 
tween Third  and  Fourth  avenues.  He  stretched 
his  legs,  cut  off  the  ignition  and  stepped  to  the 
sidewalk  where  he  bumped  into  Pliny  Driver  — 
melancholy  and  trusted  employe"  of  the  City  Ice 
Company.  Pliny  inquired  quite  naturally  about 
the  car  and  Florian  answered  nonchalantly: 
"  Bought  it." 

"Wharat?" 

"  Anniston.     Off' n  a  feller  name  of  Stiggars." 

"  How  much?  " 

Florian  did  not  mean  to  tell  an  untruth.  But 
sometimes  naked  truth  is  entirely  too  naked.  And 
a  few  hundred  dollars  more  or  less  —  anyway,  the 
words  slipped  out  before  he  was  conscious  of  them. 
"  Eight  hund'ed  dollars." 

Pliny's  whooshy  whistle  of  undisguised  admira- 
tion amply  repaid  Florian  for  the  slight  exaggera- 
tion. "  You  sho'  is  became  one  of  these  heah 
bloated  democrats,  Flo'ian." 

"  Well,"  airily,  "  I  ain't  nev'  yet  met  myse'f  when 
I  was  broke." 

Pliny  reported  Florian's  financial  flyer  to  Lawyer 
Evans  Chew  and  Lawyer  Evans  Chew  told  it  to 
Dr.  Vivian  Simmons,  M.D.,  who  maintained  a  suite 
of  offices  on  the  same  floor  of  the  Penny  Pruden- 
tial Bank  Building.  Dr.  Simmons  told  Clarence 
Carter  and  Clarence  passed  the  story  on  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Elias  Rush.  B.y  six  o'clock  that  evening  all 
of  the  members  in  coloured  social  circles  were  in 


BACKFIRE  191 

possession  of  the  facts,  some  of  which  facts  were 
actually  accurate.  With  a  single  exception  they 
expressed  a  unanimity  of  admiration. 

The  exception  was  Sally  Crouch,  the  voluminous 
proprietress  of  the  Cozy  Home  Hotel  for  Coloured. 
She  shrugged  her  ample  shoulders  with  sceptical 
disdain :  "  Sho',  that  nigger  ain't  nev'  seed  no 
eight  hund'ed  dollars! " 

"  You  is  disremember,  Sally,  that  'tain't  so  long 
'go  he  won  twen'y-five  hund'ed  dollars  in  the  Pool 
an'  Ginuwine  lott'ry." 

Sally  had  not  forgotten  the  episode.  She  had 
cause  to  recall  every  humiliating  detail.  Those 
were  the  days  when  Florian  had  been  penniless 
and  had  courted  Sally  Crouch  for  her  money.  Luck 
had  broken  his  way  at  the  eleventh  hour  and  he  had 
turned  up  missing  at  his  wedding.  Sally  was  the 
forsaken  bride  and  forsaken  brides  neither  forget 
nor  forgive  easily.  Said  she :  "  I  ain't  nev'  seed 
no  money  'roun'  that  they  Flo'ian  Slappey !  Maybe 
so  it's  all  right  but  it  sho'  sounds  fishy  to  me. 
Seems  like  somebody  had  ought  to  fin'  out  the  per- 
tickerlers." 

The  story  of  Sally's  plain-spoken  doubt  was  also 
passed  from  lip  to  lip.  With  embellishments. 

For  eight  months  Florian  had  held  undisputed 
sway  as  masculine  mentor  of  the  younger  social 
set.  His  acquisition  of  the  limousine  bade  fair  to 
make  the  tenure  hereditary.  He  wras  gloriously 
generous  in  his  magnificence  and  many  a  dusky 
damsel  learned  that  he  could  drive  with  one  hand 
over  the  roads  between  Birmingham  and  its  myriad 
suburbs:  Bessemer,  Ensley,  Woodlawn,  Pratt 
City,  East  Lake,  Fairfield.  .  .  .  Each  and  every 


192  POLISHED  EBONY 

one  of  them  sought  to  ensnare  him  with  her  fem- 
inine charms,  but  Florian  was  as  frank  as  he  was 
wary.  "  Me  —  Ise  off  of  women  absotively  an'  on- 
tirely!" 

Occasionally  Florian  condescended  to  collect  a 
few  dollars  by  wildcat  taxicab  work,  thereby  court- 
ing durance  vile  because  of  the  lack  of  a  commer- 
cial license.  But  even  with  that  the  car  was  an 
expense  which  Florian  could  ill  afford.  Florian's 
nature,  fortunately,  was  such  that  worry  of  the 
morrow  did  not  often  disturb  the  tranquillity  of 
today. 

Not  since  the  winning  of  the  now  famous  Florian 
Slappey  Gig  in  the  Genuine  lottery  —  paying  him 
twenty-five  hundred  dollars  for  the  one  he  had  tim- 
idly invested  —  had  Florian  been  so  excruciatingly 
happy.  His  bliss  was  intensive.  He  received  adu- 
lation and  envy  in  great,  luscious  gobs. 

But  it  was  too  good  to  last  —  and  it  didn't.  The 
explosion  occurred  one  Saturday  evening  while 
Florian  was  curled  up  in  the  driver's  seat  of  his 
car,  immersed  in  the  column  of  negro  news  which 
appears  once  a  week  in  The  Birmingham  Ledger. 
On  the  opposite  page  was  a  double-column  headline 
and  beneath  the  headline  a  story  of  considerable 
personal  interest  to  Florian. 

GEORGIA  CHAUFFEUR  IS 
ROBBED  OF  HIS  CAR  BY 
BANDIT  NEAR  ANNISTON 

MASKED  HIGHWAYMAN   SUPPOSED 

TO  HAVE  BROUGHT  CAB  TO  Bra- 

MINGHAM  —  POLICE  ON 

LOOKOUT 

Instinct  prompted  Florian  to  a  perusal  of  the 


BACKFIRE  193 

story.    He  waded  through  the  elegant  display  of 
adjectivial  reportorial  imagination  — 

Held  up  shortly  before  reaching  Anniston  while  en  route 
to  Birmingham  while  driving  a  limousine  belonging  to  Robert 
J.  Barbour  of  Peachtree  street,  Atlanta ;  Beauregard  Tuggle, 
chauffeur,  was  robbed  of  his  car  and  severely  beaten  in  a  ter- 
rific battle. 

Tuggle  was  driving  the  car  from  Atlanta  to  meet  his  em- 
ployer, Mr.  Barbour,  who  arrived  in  Birmingham  recently  from 
Memphis  and  registered  at  the  Molton  Hotel.  According  to 
Tuggle's  straightforward  and  graphic  story  he  was  held  up  by 
a  masked  bandit  shortly  before  arriving  in  Anniston,  and  was 
relieved  of  his  car  and  nearly  two  hundred  dollars  in  cash. 
After  the  desperate  battle  he  was  left  bound  and  gagged  by  the 
roadside. 

The  car  has  a  Georgia  license,  No.  19817(53.  A  reward  of 
$500  has  been  offered  by  Mr.  Barbour  for  tbe  return  of  the  car 
and  the  capture  of  the  bandit.  Both  car  and  bandit  are  thought 
to  be  in  or  near  Birmingham. 

Tbe  fight  with  the  bandit  was  a  thrilling  one,  according  to 
Tuggle's  story.  He  was  attacked — 

Florian's  brow  wrinkled  in  perplexity.  He  had 
a  haunting  idea  that  all  was  not  as  it  should  be. 
He  became  suspicious  of  the  fact  that  he  had  been 
trimmed,  that  he  was  a  come-on,  a  receiver  of  stolen 
goods  that  were  dangerous  to  possess.  He  knew, 
and  yet  he  verified  his  knowledge.  He  alighted 
and  walked  to  the  rear  of  the  car.  The  figures 
1981763  blazed  up  at  him  mockingly  from  the  li- 
cense tag. 

He  climbed  into  the  car  and  sank  limply  into 
his  seat.  He  understood  for  the  first  time  why  the 
suave  Mr.  Selkirk  Stiggars  had  been  willing  to 
pledge  a  fifteen  hundred  dollar  car  for  a  paltry 
two  hundred  dollars.  He  recalled  the  hard  look 
of  Mr.  Stiggars'  eyes,  the  belligerent  swing  to  the 
Stiggars'  shoulders.  Florian  had  met  more  than 


194  POLISHED  EBONY 

one  bad  nigger  in  his  time  and  be  now  realized  that 
Mr.  Stiggars  was  all  of  that  —  and  more. 

He  figured  it  all  out.  One,  Beauregard  Tuggle, 
had  been  relieved  of  Mr.  Barbour's  car  near  Annis- 
ton.  The  highwayman,  under  the  deceiving  name 
of  Selkirk  Stiggars,  had  wormed  into  a  poker  game 
with  the  money  he  had  taken  from  the  heroic  chauf- 
feur and  after  losing  that,  had  let  his  car  go  for 
two  hundred.  That  the  two  hundred  had  followed 
the  trail  blazed  by  the  first  hundred  and  fifty  did 
not  particularly  interest  Florian. 

He  writhed  as  he  envisioned  the  Stiggars  chortle 
of  glee  in  the  knowledge  that  Florian  had  taken 
unto  himself  a  property  liable  to  land  him  in  the 
county  jail.  He  remembered  the  credence  which 
had  been  given  Sally  Crouch's  sceptical  story. 
There  were  folks  —  coloured  folks  —  who  would 
rejoice  to  see  him  hoist  by  his  own  petard. 

He  shrugged.  He  was  stung  for  two  hundred 
dollars.  Of  course,  there  was  a  reward  extant  — 
a  reward  of  five  hundred.  Florian  wanted  that 
reward.  Five  hundred  dollars  would  leave  a  bal- 
ance on  the  credit  side  of  the  ledger.  The  trouble 
was  that  while  he  would  have  little  difficulty  in 
returning  the  car,  he  fancied  that  there  would  be 
considerable  opposition  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Stiggars 
should  he  happen  to  meet  him  and  suggest  that  Mr. 
Stiggars  submit  to  arrest. 

A  negro  boy  strolled  northward  on  Eighteenth 
street,  whistling.  He  paused  near  Florian's  car 
and  Florian  fancied  that  his  eyes  were  focussed  on 
the  license  number.  The  boy  resumed  his  walk. 
The  whistling  had  ceased.  Florian  experienced  a 


BACKFIRE  195 

cold  chill  like  the  first  touch  of  an  annual  malarial 
attack. 

He  saw  a  policeman  on  the  corner,  the  blue  coat 
—  as  usual  —  unbuttoned.  He  realized  that  the 
policeman  at  whom  he  gazed,  in  common  with  every 
other  member  of  the  city  force,  was  on  the  lookout 
for  Georgia  license  number  1981763.  Fear  of  the 
police  was  a  novel  experience ;  a  sensation  far  from 
pleasant. 

Florian  Slappey  was  worried.  He  banished  all 
thought  of  the  five  hundred  dollars  reward  and  be- 
thought himself  ways  and  means  of  getting  rid  of 
the  car.  Obviously  the  first  step  was  — 

He  was  an  ingenious  man  and  a  man  of  action. 
He  started  up  his  motor,  let  in  his  gears  and  sped 
down  the  alley  bisecting  the  block  between  Third 
and  Fourth  avenues.  He  emerged  on  Seventeenth 
street,  turned  south  and  brought  his  car  to  a  halt 
near  the  curb. 

Dusk  had  merged  into  night.  The  arc  lamp  on 
the  corner  spluttered  disconsolately.  No  human 
was  in  sight.  A  South  Ensley  car  shot  by  the  cor- 
ner, out-bound  .  .  .  then  all  was  quiet  again. 
Florian  worked  swiftly.  He  raised  the  seat  cush- 
ion, found  a  pair  of  pliers,  and  within  one  minute 
and  ten  seconds  the  damning  Georgia  license  had 
splashed  into  the  sewer.  Then,  without  regard  to 
speed  limit,  Florian  swung  into  Third  avenue  and 
so  back  to  the  parking  space  from  which  he  had 
started  a  few  minutes  earlier. 

He  was  temporarily  relieved,  but  far  from  satis- 
fied. The  situation  was  one  requiring  expert  ad- 
vice. It  presented  infinite  possibilities  —  both  for 


196  POLISHED  EBONY 

benefit  and  for  harm.  Florian  did  not  tarry.  He 
made  haste  to  the  offices  of  Lawyer  Evans  Chew 
and  ten  minutes  later  the  dignified,  be-spectacled 
coloured  attorney  was  in  possession  of  the  facts. 
His  first  query  was  disconcerting :  "  How  much 
you  paid  for  that  car,  Brother  Slappey?  " 

"  Two  hund'ed  dollars." 

"  You  done  said  eight  hund'ed  befo'." 

Florian  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "  Co'se  I 
did.  What  you  'spec'  me  to  say?  Might's  well 
make  'em  believe  a  plen'y.  But  I  ain't  come  up 
heah  to  make  talk  'bout  whether  I  'zaggerated  on 
the  price.  I  wants  yo'  legal  'pinion." 

Lawyer  Chew  stared  ominously  at  his  vis-a-vis. 
"  Brother  Slappey  —  you  is  shuah  in  bad." 

"  Hmph !  Guess  I  don'  need  no  lawyer  to  tell 
me  that." 

"  They  is  grave  danger  that  you  have  hopelessly 
'criminated  yo'se'f  both  by  telling  an  untruth  re- 
geardin'  the  original  purchase  price  an'  also  like- 
wise by  th'owing  away  the  Geo'gia  license  tag.  De- 
struction of  'criminating  evidence,  Brother  Slap- 
pey, has  been  held  by  all  the  Co'ts  of  the  land  to 
be  constructive  evidence  of  guilty  knowledge." 

"  I  is  got  the  guilty  knowledge  all  right,  Lawyer 
Chew.  So's  all  the  p'lice  in  Birmin'ham.  Ques- 
tion is:  what  is  I  to  do?" 

Lawyer  Chew  rose  and  approached  his  dusty 
bookshelves.  He  solemnly  and  absorbedly  con- 
sulted a  musty  legal  tome  which  Florian  was  for- 
tunately unaware  bore  the  title  "  Pomeroy's  Equity 
Jurisprudence."  Finally  Chew  delivered  his  de- 
cision. 

"  You  is  got  to  get  rid  of  that  automobile ! " 


BACKFIRE  197 

"  Pshaw !  Is  you  had  to  do  all  that  studyin'  to 
tell  me  that?  " 

"I  never  risk  giving  advice,"  retorted  the  law- 
yer with  dignity,  "  until  I  have  reinforced  myse'f 
with  a  p'rusal  of  the  latest  dicta  an'  decision." 

Florian  scratched  his  head.  Lawyer  Chew  was 
too  vague  and  impersonal  for  him.  "  All  right," 
he  said  at  length,  "  Ise  got  to  git  rid  of  the  car. 
Now  s'pose  you  read  some  mo'  out  of  that  they  book 
an'  tell  me  how  I  is  to  do  it." 

"  You  stands  in  the  lights  of  a  receiver  of  stolen 
propitty,"  intoned  Chew,  "  an'  as  such  you  ain't  got 
any  right  to  keep  it." 

"  Golly !  We  is  been  agree'  on  that  fo'  a  half 
hour." 

"  The  title  of  the  man  from  which  you  bought 
the  car  was  a  bad  title  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  an' 
the  fac'  that  you  is  an  innocent  thi'd  pa'ty  don'  do 
you  no  good  where  the  true  owner  is  conce'ned  at." 
Lawyer  Chew  believed  in  handing  out  a  surfeit 
of  undigestible  legal  axioms  in  return  for  a 
fee. 

"  'Bout  that  rewa'd,  though  — ?  " 

"Ah!  The  rewa'd!  O'dna'ily  I'd  say  you 
should  see  Mr.  Barbour  of  Atlanta  —  the  on'y  hitch 
thereto  bein'  that  he's  li'ble  to  think  you  is  in  ca- 
hoots with  the  highwayman." 

"  The  feller  what  heP  up  his  shofifer?  " 

"  Yes.  'Course  we  mought  go  up  to  the  Molton 
an'  take  a  chancst  — " 

"  Of  gittin'  'rested?  " 

"  They's  a  chance,  of  course.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  they  is  the  pos'bility  that  you  will  git  back 
yo'  two  hund'ed  an'  maybe  th'ee  hund'ed  dollars 


198  POLISHED  EBONY 

mo'.  An'  as  we  are  'greed  that  the  car  must  be 
returned  — " 

Florian  rose  resignedly.     "  You  go  with  me?  " 

"  As  yo'  lawyer.  .  .  ." 

"  Keckon  I  need  you?  " 

"  Reckon  you  do,  Flo'ian.  You  is  li'ble  to  tell 
too  much  truth !  " 

Within  a  half  hour  the  two  nervous  negroes  were 
at  the  Molton  Hotel  and  the  clerk  had  notified 
Mr.  Barbour  that  two  coloured  men  wished  an  inter- 
view with  him  regarding  the  missing  automobile. 
They  were  sent  up  to  his  room  and  found  them- 
selves a  bit  reassured  as  they  gazed  into  the  quiz- 
zical grey  eyes  of  an  overlarge  man  whom  they  in- 
stinctively recognized  as  a  Southerner  born  and 
bred.  "  Thank  Gawd !  "  muttered  the  attorney  to 
himself,  "  that  he  ain't  no  Yankee." 

"  What  do  you  boys  know  about  my  car?  "  quer- 
ied Barbour. 

"A  heap,  Mr.  Barbour,"  came  Chew's  ready  an- 
swer. "  Thisyer  is  Flo'ian  Slappey;  a  chu'ch  man 
an'  one  of  the  mos'  respective  citizens  of  our  col- 
oured c'mmunity." 

"  I  shuah  is,"  echoed  Florian. 

Barbour  smiled  genially.     "And  you?" 

"  Evans  Chew,  suh :  an  attorney  licensed  to  prac- 
tice befo'  all  the  Co'ts  of  the  sove'eign  State  of 
Alabama.  Flo'ian  has  became  my  client  in  this 
matter  under  c'nsideration." 

"  I  see.  And  your  friend  Florian  is  the  man  who 
knows  all  about  my  automobile?  " 

"Perzac'ly.  In  brief,  Misto'  Barbour,  Flo'ian 
has  yo'  limmysine." 

"  Where  is  it?  " 


BACKFIRE  199 

"Downstairs  on  the  Fif  avenue  side.  I  wants 
you  to  un'erstan',  Mr.  Barbour,  that  Flo'ian  is  an 
hones'  man  an'  when  he  read  in  the  Ledger  'bout 
the  five  hund'ed  dollars  rewa'd,  he  was  all  fo'  re- 
tu'nin'  it  to  you  an'  nev'  sayin'  nothin'  'bout  being 
paid  fo'  his  honesty.  But  I  says  to  him,  I  says: 
1  Brother  Slappey  —  I  got  a  hunch  Mr.  Barbour  is 
a  lib'al  man  an'  he'd  sho'  pay  you  the  five  hund'ed 
dollars  reward  if  n  he  knew  you  had  been  stung.'  " 

"  Stung? " 

"  Yassuh.  You  see,  suh,  'tis  thisaway :  Flo'ian 
was  umfortunate  enough  to  buy  yo'  car  fum  the 
highwayman  what  stold  it  fum  yo'  shoff er !  " 

"  A-a-ah !  Suppose  you  sit  down  and  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

Lawyer  Chew  started  the  story.  Florian  in- 
terrupted. Chew  resumed.  Florian  interrupted 
again  —  fearful  that  some  vital  detail  tending  to- 
ward the  eventual  return  of  his  two  hundred  dol- 
lars might  be  omitted.  And  finally  the  harassed 
attorney  with  his  ponderous  phraseology  threw  up 
his  hands :  "  If  n  you  think  you  can  tell  it  better'n 
me,  Flo'ian  —  go  ahead." 

Florian  may  not  have  told  it  better  —  but  he 
certainly  told  more  of  it.  His  recital  became  an 
impassioned  plea  for  the  reimbursement  of  his  two 
hundred  dollars.  He  supplied  details  which  the 
lawyer  had  never  heard.  He  even  insisted  that  he 
had  known  all  along  that  something  was  wrong 
and  that  out  of  the  natural  honesty  of  his  nature 
he  had  risked  his  two  hundred  dollars  in  the  altru- 
istic attempt  to  return  the  car  to  its  rightful  owner. 

Robert  J.  Barbour  of  Peachtree  street,  Atlanta, 
listened  with  quiet,  unsmiling  amusement.  He 


200  POLISHED  EBONY 

had  lived  his  life  in  contact  with  the  society  city 
negroes  of  the  south  and  he  knew  them  and  their 
eccentricities.  Therefore,  he  knew  exactly  what 
portions  of  Florian's  story  to  accept  and  what  to 
reject.  When  the  tale  was  finished  he  delivered  his 
verdict. 

"  I  believe  you  paid  the  two  hundred  dollars  for 
the  car,  Florian  —  and  I'll  make  it  up  to  you  if  I 
find  the  car  in  good  condition.  As  for  the  other 
three  hundred  —  you  can  have  that  when  you  find 
the  highwayman  and  deliver  him  over  to  me.  Un- 
der the  terms  of  my  offer  I  am  not  bound  to  pay 
you  a  cent  —  but  I'm  not  anxious  to  see  you  lose 
two  hundred  dollars  through  me." 

Florian  exhaled  a  sigh  of  infinite  relief.  He  es- 
corted Mr.  Barbour  to  the  Fifth  avenue  side  of  the 
hotel  and  a  half-hour  spin  over  the  Norwood  Boule- 
vard convinced  Mr.  Barbour  that  the  car  was  in 
exceptionally  good  trim.  Whereupon  the  two  hun- 
dred dollars  which  Florian  had  originally  paid  out 
was  returned  to  him  in  full,  with  the  doubtful  prom- 
ise of  the  additional  three  hundred  in  the  event  of 
the  capture  of  the  bandit. 

The  two  negroes  walked  down  Twentieth  street 
together.  "  My  fee,"  suggested  Lawyer  Chew  deli- 
cately, "  is  ten  dollars." 

"Whut?    Tendolla's?" 

"  You  heard  me,  Flo'ian." 

"  Fo'  a  half  hour's  wuk?  " 

"  Perfessional  services." 

"Huh!     Graft!" 

"  I  have  earned  it,  and  I  must  insist  — " 

Florian  sadly  delivered  over  two  five-dollar  bills. 
"W'en  a  lawyer  says  he's  got  to  insist  on  bavin' 


BACKFIRE  201 

money,  Brother  Chew  —  I  got  more  sense'n  to  think 
I  c'n  git  out  of  payin'  it." 

"  Thank  you."  Chew  pocketed  the  bills.  "  And 
at  any  future  time  you  require  my  services :  if  you 
meet  Selkirk  Stiggars,  for  example  — " 

"  I'll  need  you  then  to  'fend  me  fum  a  cha'ge  of 
manslaughter,"  snapped  Florian  venomously. 

Florian's  psychic  condition  regarding  a  meeting 
with  Mr.  Selkirk  Stiggars,  bandit,  were  an  admix- 
ture of  boundless  hope  and  abiding  fear.  Should 
he  meet  Mr.  Stiggars  and  be  able  to  hold  him  until 
the  iron  fingers  of  the  law  could  grasp  the  Stiggars 
windpipe,  he  would  be  richer  by  three  hundred 
dollars  and  a  big  winner  on  the  deal  —  even  count- 
ing the  cost  of  upkeep. 

Three  hundred  dollars  was  three  hundred  dol- 
lars ;  but,  reflected  the  perturbed  Florian  —  Mr. 
Stiggars  was  Mr.  Stiggars.  He  fancied  that  Mr. 
Stiggars  might  register  somewhat  too  strenuous 
objections  should  he  undertake  to  hand  him  over 
to  the  police.  To  Florian's  knowledge  road-agents 
had  a  congenital  antipathy  to  jails.  Besides,  Flo- 
rian was  far  from  sure  that  he  was  physically  able 
to  detain  Mr.  Stiggars,  even  should  he  care  to  make 
the  attempt.  He  envisioned  the  colossal  bulk  of 
Mr.  Stiggars  and  the  baleful  glare  of  the  blood- 
shot Stiggars'  eyes.  Florian  thought  Stiggars  and 
then  he  thought  three  hundred  dollars.  He 
couldn't  decide.  He  had  a  hunch  that  he  was  des- 
tined to  meet  Mr.  Stiggars  before  the  passing  of 
very  many  days  — 

He  did.  It  happened  Monday  night  while  Flo- 
rian was  en  "route  —  afoot  —  to  escort  Miss  Gussie 
Muck  to  the  movies.  A  heavy  hand  fell  positively 


202  POLISHED  EBONY 

upon  Florian's  shoulder  and  a  shadow  bulked  omi- 
nously behind  him. 

"  Mistuh  Slappey !  " 

Florian  knew  the  voice.  He  had  heard  it  rum- 
ble from  behind  a  dwindling  stack  of  chips  — 
"  Raise  you  five  dollars.  .  .  ."  He  was  face  to  face 
with  the  practical  necessity  for  the  decision  at 
which  he  had  been  unable  to  arrive  in  theory.  The 
situation  was,  to  say  the  least,  annoying. 

"  Mistuh  Slappey !  " 

Florian  accelerated.     "  Ise  busy  — " 

"Sa-a-ay!    Lis'en  heah.  .  .  ." 

He  listened.  Something  in  the  other's  nuance 
informed  him  that  listening  was  strictly  in  order. 
He  turned.  His  face  broke  into  a  warm,  friendly, 
welcoming  smile  and  his  right  hand  came  out  in 
effusive  greeting.  "  I'm  dawg'd  if'n  tain't  Mistuh 
Stiggars ! " 

"  That's  which,"  came  the  unsmiling  retort. 

"  How  you  is,  Brother  Stiggars?  " 

"  Tol'able.     I  wants  to  make  talk  with  you." 

"  Tomorrow  mawnin'  at  nine  'clock  — " 

"  T'night.     Now." 

"  You  got  to  excuse  me,  Brother  Stiggars,  'cause 
I  is  got  a  pressin'  'gagement  with  a  lady." 

"  You  is  got  a  'gagement  with  me  —  immedjit." 

"  But,  Brother  Stiggars  — " 

" —  An'  if'n  you  don'  keep  it  chancsts  is  you  won't 
nev'  have  no  mo'  'gagement  a  tall." 

"  You  don'  understan'.  .  .  ." 

"  Reckon  I  does.     You  c'mon !  " 

Florian  parleyed.  He  looked  Mr.  Stiggars  over 
and  found  his  demeanour  anything  but  reassuring. 
He  thought  of  the  chauffeur  who  had  been  beaten 


BACKFIRE  203 

and  bound  and  gagged.  .  .  .  Florian  had  no  desire 
to  accompany  Mr.  Stiggars  into  a  dark  alley.  He 
had  a  premonition  that  it  might  not  be  beneficial 
to  his  health.  "  Reckon  we  c'n  make  discussion 
right  heah,  Mistuh  Stiggars." 

The  big  negro  shrugged.  The  bad  light  was  in 
his  eyes.  The  bulge  was  evident  in  the  right  hip 
pocket.  His  opening  shaft  was  a  bit  paralysing  — 
"  You  done  me  out  of  my  car  over  to  Anniston 
las'  week,  Mistuh  Slappey." 

"  'Twas  business  — " 

"  I  ain't  gwine  make  no  talk  with  you  'bout  the 
how-comes.  What  I  is  after  is  —  I  wants  my  car 
back!" 

"  Oh !  "  Florian  subsided  suddenly.  The  bandit 
wanted  the  car  and  the  car  was  gone.  Florian's 
last  chance  to  placate  his  unwelcome  companion 
had  departed.  "  Y-y-you  do?  " 

"  I  shuah  does.  An'  I  got  money  —  r'il  money. 
I  wanna  buy  it." 

Florian  waxed  suspicious.  "  Whar  you  git  that 
money  at?  " 

"  Over  to  the  Pool  an'  Ginuwine  lott'ry.  I  bet 
th'ee  dollars  on  the  Washerwoman's  gig  an'  out  she 
come.  I  got  six  hund'ed  dollars  —  cash  money." 

"  Fo'— 'leven  —  fo'ty-fo',"  breathed  Florian. 
Stiggars'  statement  rang  true.  Florian  had  that 
day  heard  of  a  stranger  who  had  cleaned  up  six 
hundred  dollars  on  the  Washerwoman's  gig. 
"  Well?  "  he  questioned. 

"  I  on'y  owes  you  two  hund'ed  an'  twen'y-five  dol- 
lars, Mistuh  Slappey  —  but  I  is  a  hones'  man  an'  I 
is  ready  to  pay  you  two  hund'ed  an'  fifty.  I  wants 
that  car  an'  I  wants  it  now,  an'  I'm  adwisin'  you 


204  POLISHED  EBONY 

not  to  make  no  talk  about  you  done  sol'  that  car 
because  if  you  have,  Mistuh  Slappey  they's  li'ble 
to  be  action  'roun'  heah  an'  you  an'  me  will  know 
all  'bout  it." 

"  But  s'pose  — " 

"I  ain't  keen  on  s'posin'.  Wen  Selkirk  Stig- 
gars  wants  sumthin'  he  mos'  usually  gits  it.  On'er- 
stan'?" 

Florian  nodded.  "  I  sho'  does,  Brother  Stiggars. 
B'lieve  me  —  I  sho'  does." 

"Whar  that  car  is  at?" 

The  proposition  was  put  squarely  up  to  Florian. 
The  decision  had  been  forced  upon  him.  He  faced 
the  disquieting  necessity  of  trapping  Mr.  Selkirk 
Stiggars  if  he  wished  to  save  his  own  skin. 

"  Les'  talk  it  over,"  he  temporized. 

"  'Tain't  nothin'  to  talk  over.  Whar  that  car  is 
at?" 

"  To  the  garage.  I  was  thinkin'  yo'd  come  to  my 
room  an'  take  a  sociable  drink  — " 

Mr.  Stiggars'  eyes  glistened.  "A  sho'  nuff 
drink?  " 

"  Yeh.     No  white  lightnin',  neither." 

They  repaired  to  Florian's  room  and  the  bottle 
was  produced.  Further  invitation  was  unneces- 
sary. Whiskey  and  Selkirk  Stiggars  had  quite  evi- 
dently met  before. 

"  'Tain't  that  I  ain't  willin'  to  give  you  back  that 
they  car,  Brother  Stiggars  — " 

"  Better  not  be.  'Tain't  nowise  healthy  fo'  no 
nigger  to  go  contrariwise  fum  Selkirk  Stiggars." 

"  I  is  gwine  telyphone  the  garage." 

"  We  c'n  walk  there." 


BACKFIKE  205 

"  Woul'n't  think  of  troublin'  you,  Brother  Stig- 
gars.  Not  a  tall.  'Twoul'n't  be  p'lite.  The  car'll 
be  heah  in  a  few  minutes." 

Florian  made  his  escape,  leaving  Selkirk  with  the 
fast  emptying  bottle.  He  sped  to  the  telephone  in 
Broughton's  drug  store  and  called  Lawyer  Evans 
Chew.  "Lawyer  Chew?" 

"  Yes." 

"This  Flo'ian  Slappey." 

"  Uh-huh." 

"  I  needs  yo'  'sistance,  Lawyer  Chew." 

"  How  come?  " 

"  I  is  captured  that  bandit  nigger !  " 

"What?" 

"  Sho  nuff,"  expanded  Florian.  "  He  put  up  a 
pow'ful  hahd  fight  but  I  landed  him  fin'ly.  He's 
up  to  my  room  —  locked  in.  What  I  wants  you  to 
do  is  hike  to  the  Molton  Hotel  an'  git  Mr.  Barbour. 
Also  two  or  th'ee  p'lice.  Or  fo'.  Wen  you  gits  to 
my  room,  don't  knock  —  jes'  walk  in  —  see?  " 

"  Yeh." 

"An'  so's  they  won't  be  no  misun'erstandin', 
Lawyer  Chew  —  yo'  fee  fo'  this  ain't  gwine  be 
more'n  five  dollars:  that  salisfact'ry?  " 

"  Reckon  so." 

"  Tell'm  this,  Lawyer  Chew  —  this  heah  Stig- 
gars  is  got  six  hund'ed  dollars  cash  on  his  pusson. 
He  won  it  to  the  lott'ry.  An'  say  —  Lawyer  Chew 
—  take  a  frien's  adwice  an'  w'en  you-all  come  in 
my  room,  see  that  you  is  las'  in  line  yo'se'f." 

Florian  was  in  an  emotional  ferment  when  he 
returned  to  the  bibulous  bandit.  "  Car's  on  the 
way  now,  Mistuh  Stiggars." 


206  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  Le's  go  down  an'  meet  it." 

"Better  stay  Leah,  Brother  Stiggars.  Boy'll 
come  up  an'  let  us  know." 

"  We  c'n  go  down  — " 

"No,"  negatived  Florian  firmly:  "Don'  look 
dignyfied." 

Selkirk  Stiggars  wanted  to  get  his  hands  on  the 
automobile.  But  he  didn't  want  to  get  his  hands 
off  the  bottle.  The  latter  won.  He  held  on  — 
and  talked  on,  volubly  extolling  his  physical  prow- 
ess in  dealing  with  various  gentlemen  of  colour 
who  had  in  the  past  made  the  mistake  of  double- 
crossing  him  and  who  now  slept  peacefully  beneath 
the  sod  of  various  Southern  states.  There  was 
something  sinister  in  his  selection  of  a  topic.  And 
then  there  came  the  sound  of  footfalls  on  the  stair- 
way—  and  then  more  —  and  more. 

"  H-h-h-heah  he  c-c-c-c-comes,  Brother  Stiggars." 

"  Huh !  "  Stiggars  rose  threateningly.  "  That 
ain't  no  garage  boy,  Mistuh  Slappey.  Tha's  a  regy- 
ment." 

The  thumping  ceased  just  beyond  the  door  — 
paused  menacingly.  The  fetid  air  of  the  room  was 
surcharged  with  danger.  Florian  tensed  the  mus- 
cles of  his  skinny  legs  for  a  leap  beyond  the  zone 
of  fire.  Knowing  bad  men  in  general,  he  had  small 
doubt  that  Mr.  Selkirk  Stiggars  would  shoot  — 
and  shoot  fast.  The  bulge  in  the  right  hip  pocket 
appeared  to  expand.  He  hoped  vaguely  that  Law- 
yer Chew  was  well  out  of  range. 

The  door  swung  back  and  a  policeman  stepped 
into  the  room.  He  trained  the  muzzle  of  his  serv- 
ice revolver  straight  —  at  Florian  Slappey.  That 
individual;  teeth  chattering,  shrilled  in  terror  — 


BACKFIRE  207 

"  I  ain't  him,  Mistuh  P'lice :  they's  yo'  man,  yon- 
der!" 

But  the  bandit  did  not  shoot.  He  did  not  even 
try  to  make  his  escape.  He  stared  in  very  unban- 
ditlike  fashion  over  the  shoulder  of  the  policeman 
into  the  quizzical  grey  eyes  of  Mr.  Robert  J.  Bar- 
bour  of  Peachtree  street  —  Atlanta.  His  expres- 
sion was  that  of  a  man  who  gazes  upon  an  appari- 
tion. He  was  trembling  visibly. 

Slowly  the  lips  of  Mr.  Barbour  expanded  into  a 
grin :  a  very  broad  grin.  The  grin  became  a  chuc- 
kle —  and  then  grew  into  a  laugh.  He  gave  quiet 
directions  to  the  officer.  "  That's  all  right.  You 
can  put  up  your  gun." 

Florian  stared  from  Stiggars  to  Mr.  Barbour  in 
perplexity.  He  was  even  a  bit  resentful.  Some- 
thing was  radically  wrong.  His  nerves,  keyed  to 
battle  pitch,  were  raw  and  jangling.  Only  Stig- 
gars' terror  reassured  him.  "  Wh-wh-what's  all 
this?  "  stammered  Florian. 

Barbour  addressed  the  bandit.  "  I  am  pleased 
to  meet  Mr.  Selkirk  Stiggars,"  he  chuckled.  "  Mr. 
Stiggars  —  as  I  understand  that  you  have  six  hun- 
dred dollars  in  cash  in  your  pocket,  will  you  kindly 
hand  over  two  hundred  to  me:  which  amount  I 
paid  for  the  return  of  my  car.  You  may  pay  over 
three  hundred  more  to  Mr.  Florian  Slappey,  yon- 
der. That  is  his  promised  reward  for  capturing 
you." 

"  N-now,  Boss-man  .  .  ."  stammered  Stiggars. 

"Do  as  I  say!" 

The  money  was  paid  over  as  directed.  Florian 
pocketed  the  three  hundred  dollars.  ..."  What's 
it  mean?  " 


208  POLISHED  EBONY 

Mr.  Barbour  laughed  heartily.  "  I  thought  I'd 
find  you  here/'  he  said  to  Stiggars.  "  Honestly, 
Beauregard,  did  you  think  I  swallowed  that  story 
about  the  masked  bandit?  " 

"  But  —  but,  Boss,"  defended  Stiggars,  "  it  was 
a  pow'ful  good  story." 

"I  —  I  ain't  on'erstan',"  gasped  Florian. 

"  It  is  very  simple,"  explained  Barbour  laugh- 
ingly. "  Selkirk  Stiggars  is  my  chauffeur,  Beau- 
regard  Tuggle.  He  got  into  that  poker  game  in 
Anniston  and  lost  fourteen  dollars  of  his  own 
money  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  of  mine.  Then  he 
pawned  my  automobile  and  came  on  here  with  his 
story  of  being  robbed  by  a  bandit.  He  supplied 
too  many  and  too  graphic  details.  I  gave  the  story 
to  the  newspapers  and  you  showed  up  and  returned 
the  car.  And  the  way  I  knew  that  I  had  Beaure- 
gard is  that  Selkirk  Stiggars  is  the  name  of  my 
best  friend's  chauffeur.  Beauregard  was  too  lazy 
in  his  selection  of  an  alias.  I  spotted  him  the  min- 
ute I  heard  your  story  —  which  explains  why  you 
got  my  two  hundred  dollars  so  easily.  As  for  you, 
Beauregard,  you  may  pay  me  the  other  hundred 
you  have  and  work  out  the  additional  iifty.  I  have 
an  idea  that  this  will  teach  you  a  lesson." 

"  Huh !  I  reckon  it's  done  done  it."  Then  his 
eyes  met  those  of  his  employer  and  his  lips  expanded 
into  a  wide,  white  grin.  "  Golly,  Boas-man,"  he 
said  pridefully,  "  they  ain't  no  nigger  gwine  put 
nothin'  over  on  you,  is  they?  " 

Florian  Slappey  counted  over  his  three  hundred 
dollars.  He  reluctantly  detached  a  five-dollar  note 
which  he  handed  to  Lawyer  Evans  Chew.  "  They's 
yo'  fee,  Lawyer  Chew." 


BACKFIRE  209 

"  Huh ! "  deprecated  the  lawyer,  pocketing  the 
money,  "  on'y  five  dollars  an'  you  th'ee  hund'ed 
ahead  of  the  game?  " 

"  The  diffe'enee  bein',"  withered  Florian,  "  that 
I  earned  mine ! " 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED 

A  THIN,  plaintive  wail  split  the  quiet  of  the 
night.  For  a  few  seconds  it  maintained 
a  high,  shrill  pitch;  then  diminuendoed 
to  a  croupy  pizzicato  sobbing.  Derry  Moultrie  sat 
up  straight  in  bed,  the  glory  of  his  lavender  pa- 
jamas wasted  on  the  blackness  of  the  night. 

"Dawg  gawn!  Narcissy,  ain't  that  Chinners' 
baby  never  sleep?  " 

"  Yeh  —  in  the  day  times,"  snapped  his  wife  vi- 
ciously. 

"  Seems  like  they'd  ought  to  have  some  'sidera- 
tion  —  Oh !  Law  —  lis'en  at  that !  " 

That  was  a  hoarse,  croaky  baritone  which  effec- 
tively drowned  the  infantile  cries.  The  man's  voice 
punctured  the  thin  board  partition  which  divided 
the  Chinners  and  Moultrie  sides  of  the  two-family 
house  and  pounded  on  the  eardrums  of  the  har- 
assed Moultries. 

O-o-oh ! 

A  jay-bird  sat  on  a  hick'ry  limb, 
He  wink  at  me  an'  I  wink  at  him ; 

I  pick  up  a  rock  an'  I  hit  'im  in  the  shin  — 
He  say :    "  Please,  Mist'  Chinners,  don'  do  that  ag'in !  " 

For  perhaps  fifteen  minutes  Truman  Chinners 
bellowed  discord  into  the  night,  faithfully  chron- 
icling the  vicissitudes  of  the  unfortunate  jay-bird. 
Came  a  pause  —  and  the  Moultrie  family  listened 
hopefully.  But  the  Chinners  infant  had  no  mind 
to  end  the  concert  and  his  tremolo  squeal  resumed 

213 


214  POLISHED  EBONY 

the  nocturne  where  the  proud  father  had  left  off. 
The  baby  cried:  cried  until  it  choked  and  then 
settled  into  a  prolonged  sobbing.  The  voice  of 
Chinners  pere  rumbled  once  again  through  the  par- 
tition— 

O-o-oh! 

A  jay-bird  sat  on  a  hickory  limb, 
He  wink  at  me  an'  I  wink  at  him.  .  .  . 

It  was  too  much  strain  for  the  jangling  nerves  of 
the  overwrought  Derry  Moultrie.  He  left  his  bed 
in  a  bound  and  snapped  on  the  electric  bulb.  He 
crossed  the  room  and  hammered  on  the  board  wall 
until  it  shook.  The  voice  of  Truman  Chinners  came 
querulously  to  his  ears  —  a  momentary  relief  from 
the  infernal  singing. 

"  Wha's  all  the  row  'bout?  " 

Derry  was  choking  with  rage.  His  naturally 
chocolate  complexion  had  taken  on  a  greenish  tinge 
and  his  voice  quivered  with  passion.  "  Jes'  wan'ed 
to  know,"  he  roared,  "how  long  you  runs  on  one 
windin'?  " 

A  severe  silence  ensued.  It  intensified  Derry's 
wrath  more  than  a  sharp  answer.  "  If'n  you  cain't 
keep  that  baby  quiet  .  .  ." 

That,  evidently,  was  the  baby's  cue.  He  took 
advantage  of  it  with  a  vengeance.  The  wailing 
which  had  gone  before  had  been  quiet  and  soothing 
in  comparison  with  the  squawks  and  squeals  and 
choking  grunts  which  echoed  Derry's  unfinished 
threat.  Narcissy,  draped  now  in  an  old-rose  ki- 
mono —  the  gift  of  white  folks  for  whom  she  had 
once  condescended  to  cook  —  fancied  that  she  heard 
a  Chinners'  chuckle.  She  apprised  her  husband  of 


'He  crossed  the  room  and  hammered  on  the  board  wall 
until  it  shook." 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  215 

the  suspicion  and  together  they  paced  the  floor, 
robbed  of  all  chance  for  sleep. 

The  mantel  clock  cuckoo'd  thrice.  An  A.  G.  S. 
train  shrieked  tauntingly  as  it  rumbled  through 
the  city.  The  parental  Chinners  had  settled  to  a 
crooning  duet  —  the  father's  rancid  baritone  a 
full  measure  ahead  of  the  mother's  rich  con- 
tralto. 

Each  sound  from  the  Chinners'  manse  seemed 
intensified  by  its  journey  to  the  Moultrie  home. 
The  thin  boarding  which  had  converted  a  one- 
family  cottage  into  a  source  of  double  rental,  was 
evidently  imbued  with  acoustic  properties.  Derry 
and  Narcissy  sat  on  the  edge  of  their  bed  and  shook 
with  silent  rage.  Finally  forbearance  ceased  to  be 
a  virtue  and  Derry  smashed  a  clench  fist  into  an 
open  palm :  "  'Tain't  to  be  stood !  " 

"  'Tain't !  "  agreed  Narcissy  dutifully. 

"  Folks  what  is  got  babies  don'  have  no  'sidera- 
tion  a  tall." 

"  Not  none,"  came  the  wifely  echo. 

"  Jes'  wait'll  I  gits  to  him  —  Ise  gwine  make 
him  stop  that  racket !  " 

"  How?  "  queried  the  annoyingly  practical  Nar- 
cissy.  Derry  whirled  on  her  in  a  rage. 

"  How  ?  How  I  know  how  ?  I  ain't  no  cunjer-doc- 
tor,  but  Ise  man  enough  to  make  'im  quit.  Enough 
is  too  much.  Ain't  nobody  gwine  put  nothin'  ov'  on 
Derry  Moultrie.  One  month  sencst  that  baby  be'n 
bohn  an'  I  ain't  had  a  night's  res'  ontil  yet.  Seems 
like  folks'd  have  mo'  sense'n  to  have  babies  in  a 
two-fambly  house." 

Narcissy  shook  her  head  commiseratingly. 
"  Orpha  Chinners  was  tellin'  me  yestiddy  — "  She 


216  POLISHED  EBONY 

broke  off  suddenly  and  lifted  her  head  expectantly. 
Something  was  wrong.  Silence  had  occurred  on 
the  other  side  of  the  partition.  The  Moultries  tip- 
toed to  the  wall  and  applied  their  ears.  They  heard 
sibilant  mutterings,  much  cautious  tipping  about 
the  room,  then,  in  the  voice  of  the  father  — 
"  Dawg'd  if 'n  he  ain't  'sleep  a'ready !  " 

The  qualifying  adverb  set  Derry  Moultrie 
a-quiver  with  a  vast  righteous  indignation.  It  was 
the  last  straw.  For  thirty  days  and  more  he  had 
lost  his  quota  of  sleep  and  Derry,  in  common  with 
all  others  of  his  race,  was  over-fond  of  the  Mor- 
phean  embrace. 

"  They  ain't  gwine  put  nothin'  ov'  on  me,"  he 
muttered  vindictively,  whereupon  he  raised  his  rich, 
clear  tenor  in  the  opening  measures  of  a  popular 
syncopated  hit.  It  was  balm  to  his  soul  to  envision 
the  petrifaction  caused  beyond  the  partition  by 
this  latest  offensive  manffiuvre.  Narcissy  smiled 
with  benign  approval.  There  came  an  imperative 
rapping  from  the  Chinners  side  of  the  house  and 
the  angry  voice  of  Orpha  Chinners. 

"  Quit  that  racket,  Derry :  you  is  gwine  wake 
Wade  Hampton  up." 

Apparently  Derry  did  not  hear.  Certainly  he 
did  not  cease  his  leather-lunged  singing.  Within 
two  minutes  his  valiant  efforts  were  rewarded  by 
the  startled  screaming  of  Wade  Hampton  Chin- 
ners. Punctuating  the  infantile  yells  he  could 
hear  the  fervent  profanity  of  the  father  and  the 
volley  of  threats  which  accompanied  it. 

War  had  been  declared. 

An  engagement  of  outposts  occurred  at  six-thirty 
in  the  morning  after  a  night  of  bitter  recrimination 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  217 

through  the  dividing  wall.  Derry  Moultrie  and 
Truman  Chinners,  both  carpenters  by  profession, 
met  on  the  common  veranda  as  they  sallied  forth 
to  work.  Red  eyes  gazed  hostilely  into  red  eyes. 
Both  men  were  physically  exhausted  by  the  labours 
of  the  night.  Neither  was  in  a  fit  condition  for 
a  day  of  hard  work.  Derry  would  have  passed 
on  without  a  word  but  the  battle-spirit  of  father- 
hood was  rampant  in  Truman's  blood  as  he  placed 
himself  deliberately  in  Derry's  path  and  glared  up 
into  his  eyes. 

"  Derry  Moultrie  —  Ise  warnin'  you  to  be  care- 
ful they  ain't  no  repeatin'  of  las'  night." 

"  What  'bout  las'  night?  "  inquired  Derry  inno- 
cently. 

"  That  yowlin'  you  an'  Narcissy  was  doin'." 

"  I  reckon  this  is  a  free  country." 

"  You  done  it  to  wake'n  up  li'l  Wade  Hampton." 

"  I  ain't  got  no  mind  'bout  Wade  Hampton.  An' 
if 'n  I  had  —  ain't  he  been  keepin'  me  awake  fo'  a 
month?" 

"  I  cain't  help  what  he  does  — " 

"  Folks  what  cain't  control  they  babies,  Truman 
Chinners,  ain't  got  no  right  to  have  'em.  If  n  you 
c'n  keep  that  bag  of  yells  quiet  I  reckon  they  ain't 
no  reason  why  us  cain't  git  along  pleasant  like  we 
useter." 

"  'Tain't  my  fault  — 

"  Hmph !  Reckon  you  is  gwine  say  Orpha  makes 
you  sing ! " 

"  She  does." 

"  You  is  some  hen-pecked  man,  Truman.  Nex' 
thing,  Orpha'll  be  sewin'  pink  ribbons  on  yo'  night- 
shirt to  fool  the  baby!  " 


218  POLISHED  EBONY 

Truman  flared.  "  What  goes  on  in  my  house 
ain't  no  concern  of  your'n,  Derry." 

"  Same  to  you,  an1  also  ditto.  If  n  they  ain't  no 
law  'gainst  a  baby  yowliii'  an'  you  singin',  I  reckon 
us'n  c'n  have  a  concert  any  time  we  want  it." 

Truman  squared  up  to  his  once  friendly  neigh- 
bour. He  had  half  the  size  but  twice  the  belliger- 
ency of  Derry. 

"  Bet'  not  make  me  sore,  Derry." 

tt  pfff  |  you  ain't  noways  th'eatenin'  me,  is 
you?"  And,  as  a  complimentary  afterthought: 
"  You  li'l  runt !  " 

"  I  ain't  th'eatenin' —  I'se  wa'nin' —  tha's  all !  " 

"Huh!  Wen  I  gits  wa'ned,  I  wants  to  git 
wa'ned  by  a  man." 

"  You  is  gwine  fin'  out  quick  enough  I  is  a  man 
if'n  you  keep  on  like  what  you  done  las'  night. 
'Member  that,  Derry  Moultrie.  If'n  you  vallie  yo' 
complexion,  you  jes'  'member  that !  " 

The  men  separated  without  an  actual  physical 
clash,  Truman  Chinners  strutting  like  a  victorious 
bantam  to  his  temporary  job  a  few  blocks  away; 
and  Derry  Moultrie  toward  the  car  line. 

Derry  was  angry.  His  mind  was  busy  with  a 
consideration  of  ways  and  means  having  as  their 
objective  the  downfall  of  the  Chinners  household. 
The  beauty  of  a  perfect  morning  was  wasted  on 
his  misanthropic  mood.  He  swung  into  Avenue  H 
with  long,  space-eating  strides.  His  eye  happened 
to  light  on  a  sign.  He  knew  that  sign.  It  had 
startled  darktown's  society  set  with  its  unheralded 
appearance  three  days  previously.  It  was  an  or- 
nate sign,  grinning  forth  from  the  veranda  of  a 
one-family  cottage  in  the  centre  of  the  residential 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  219 

section  populated  by  the  ultra-fashionable  coloured 
citizenry. 

PRINCESS    RAJJAH 

CLAREVOYANT  EXTRIORDINARY 

OCULTISM—  —  ORISTAL  GAZING 

Find  Out  What  Your  Husband  and 
Sweetheart  is  Doing 


DO   YOU   WANT   TO  GET   EICH    FOB 

ONE  DOLLAR 

Sure  You  Do ! 

Then  See  The  PRINCESS  RAJJAH  — 
—  Most  World  Famous  and  Cheapest 

He  perused  the  sign  carefully.  His  lips  curled 
scornfully  back  from  twin  rows  of  shiny  white 
teeth.  "  Bunk !  "  he  soliloquized  sceptically :  "  an' 
they  ain't  'ary  one  of  these  heah  niggers  ain't  fell 
fo'  it !  'Ceptin'  on'y  me !  " 

He  boarded  a  trolley  for  the  centre  of  the  city 
and  transferred  to  a  suburban  car  marked  "  West- 
field."  In  the  trailer  he  found  a  jam  of  fellow- 
workmen,  most  of  whom  were  bound  for  Westfield 
where  five  hundred  cottages  were  being  erected  by 
a  big  contracting  firm  under  rush  orders.  From 
the  workers'  standpoint  the  job  was  an  excellent 
one ;  the  wages  large,  the  hours  easy  —  and,  until 
the  birth  of  Wade  Hampton  Chinners  the  carpen- 
tering of  Derry  Moultrie  had  found  favour  in  the 
eyes  of  all  the  foremen;  white  and  coloured  alike. 

But  the  past  month  had  effected  a  change.  No 
longer  did  Derry  come  whistling  to  work  refreshed 
by  a  long  night  of  undisturbed  slumber.  He  was 
the  victim  of  vicarious  insomnia.  He  dozed  over 


220  POLISHED  EBONY 

his  labours  —  and  thereupon  fell  from  grace.  All 
of  which  had  considerable  to  do  with  his  rancour 
against  the  whole  Chinners  family. 

Previous  to  the  advent  of  little  Wade  Hampton, 
the  Moultries  and  the  Chinnerses  had  been  the  best 
of  friends.  The  ladies  found  each  other  congenial 
as  neighbours  and  fellow-members  of  The  Lily  of 
the  Valley  Club.  The  husbands  spent  their  eve- 
nings together  discussing  professional  matters. 
They  were  members  of  the  same  church  and  both 
held  minor  offices  in  the  exclusive  Sons  &  Daugh- 
ters of  I  Will  Arise. 

The  baby  had  changed  it  all.  Friendship  had 
been  metamorphosed  into  enmity.  The  parents  of 
the  child  —  their  first  and  only  —  resented  the  re- 
sentment of  the  childless  couple.  They  could  not 
understand  that  anything  Wade  Hampton  might 
do  could  be  otherwise  than  wonderful  or  univer- 
sally pleasing.  They  considered  it  an  honour  that 
the  Moultries  were  allowed  to  sacrifice  a  paltry  few 
hours  of  sleep  for  the  pleasure  of  listening  to  the 
lusty,  precocious  yells.  The  Chinnerses  did  not 
object:  certainly  the  Moultries'  protests  were  in- 
dicative of  basest  ingratitude  and  a  lack  of  all 
sense  of  appreciation.  It  wasn't  the  Moultries' 
baby  and  it  wasn't  their  house.  The  Chinnerses 
were  not  responsible  for  the  very  thin  boarding 
which  separated  their  homes. 

Relations  had  been  broken  off  in  toto.  But  there 
was  no  gainsaying  the  fact  that  the  Chinnerses  were 
getting  the  better  of  what  had  rapidly  developed 
into  bitter  warfare.  It  was  inevitable  that  the 
Moultries  would  grow  tired  of  remaining  awake 
for  the  purpose  of  waking  Wade  Hampton  when 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  221 

he  drifted  off  to  sleep.  On  the  other  hand:  night 
wakefulness  came  natural  to  the  baby. 

Derry  Moultrie  developed,  with  desperate  and 
somewhat  devilish  ingenuity,  new  methods  of  tor- 
ture. He  went  to  the  expense  of  having  a  tele- 
phone installed.  For  obvious  reasons,  the  instru- 
ment was  placed  in  the  kitchen,  out  of  Chinners' 
earshot.  The  Chinnerses  had  a  telephone  and  for 
many  nights  after  the  installation  in  the  Moultrie 
home,  the  dropping  off  to  sleep  of  Wade  Hampton 
was  the  signal  for  a  violent  jangling  of  their  tele- 
phone bell.  Truman  Chinners  would  leap  for  the 
'phone,  hoarsely  whisper  a  "  Hello !  "  only  to  hear 
the  mocking  click  of  a  receiver  at  the  other  end  — 
which  he  fortunately  did  not  know  was  the  Moul- 
trie home  —  and  the  cool,  calm  voice  of  Central 
inquiring  "  Number,  please !  "  Inevitably  Wade 
Hampton  waked,  squalled  —  and  was  trundled  by 
his  father. 

But  despite  Derry's  best  efforts  victory  perched 
on  the  Chinners'  banner.  Derry  and  his  now  hag- 
gard wife  realized  poignantly  that  they  had  lost 
the  fight  and  that  they  were  destined  to  spend  the 
remaining  eight  months  of  their  leasehold  in  a 
nightmare  of  sleeplessness. 

'The  diminutive  cause  of  all  the  trouble  contin- 
ued to  howl  his  nights  happily  away.  The  fond 
parents  took  it  all  as  a  matter  of  divine  course,  and 
the  carpentering  of  Truman  Chinners  became  even 
more  expert  than  it  had  been.  He  was  in  the  grip 
of  proudest  fatherhood  and  each  nail  driven  de- 
veloped a  finer  technique  under  the  inspiration  of 
his  lusty-lunged  son  and  heir.  Truman  had  even 
been  emboldened  to  a  flyer  in  independent  contract- 


222  POLISHED  EBONY 

ing  which,  unfortunately,  had  driven  him  close  to 
the  ragged  edge  of  disaster.  But  even  that  pro- 
fessional debacle  had  been  salved  by  the  pudgy 
brown  fingers  of  his  son. 

Derry  Moultrie  had  no  such  balm.  The  condi- 
tion —  trifling  enough  at  the  outset  —  had  been 
magnified  a  thousandfold  by  the  long  period  of  en- 
forced sleeplessness.  The  tempers  of  himself  and 
his  wife  had  been  utterly  annihilated.  They  be- 
came crabbed  and  rowed  with  one  another. 

The  warfare  between  the  two  sections  of  the 
divided  house  became  merciless.  Chinners  more 
than  half-suspected  the  source  of  the  many-times- 
nightly  telephone  calls  and  muttered  overt  threats 
having  to  do  with  the  complete  and  sudden  extinc- 
tion of  the  Moultrie  family.  But  by  the  end  of  the 
second  week  it  had  become  patent  to  the  Moultries 
that  things  could  not  remain  as  they  were.  Even 
their  temporary  triumphs  were  too  dearly  bought. 
Whereupon,  after  a  heavy-eyed  consultation  with 
his  consort,  Derry  presented  himself  before  Good- 
rich Carroll,  agent  for  the  house  in  which  he  lived. 
He  explained  to  Mr.  Carroll  that  he  wished  the 
Chinnerses  removed  and  removed  quickly.  Mr. 
Carroll  shook  his  head. 

"  They  have  a  lease,  Derry." 

"Sho'— don'  I  know  that,  Cap'n?  But  what 
good's  a  lease  if'n  white  folks  cain't  bust  it?  " 

Mr.  Carroll  smiled.  "  You  must  have  a  rea- 
son." 

"  Sho'  is." 

"  What  is  it?  " 

"  Jes'  trouble,"  answered  Derry  evasively. 
"  You  see,  Cap'n  Carroll,  us'n  the  Chinnerses  don' 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  223 

git  'long  so  well  like  what  we  useter.  Mis'  Chin- 
nerses  is  got  pow'ful  uppity  'long  with  my  wife  an' 
they  is  rowin'  all  the  time.  An'  w'en  wimmin  gits 
to  rowin'  Cap'n,  they  ain't  nothin'  to  put  between 
'em  but  distance  an'  lots  of  it.  An'  of  co'se  me'n 
Truman  ain't  Men's  like  what  we  useter  be,  an'  Ise 
pow'ful  skeered  they's  gwine  be  trouble  between 
him  an'  I." 

"  Why  don't  you  sublet?  "  inquired  the  real  estate 
agent.  "  I'd  agree  if  you  secured  a  reliable  ten- 
ant." 

Derry  shook  his  head.  He  had  no  mind  to  end 
the  vendetta  by  a  Moultrie  evacuation.  "  Guess'n 
I  could  if'n  I  had  to,  Cap'n;  but  to  tell  the  hones' 
truth,  this  heah  job  which  I  is  got  over  to  Wes'fiel' 
ain't  li'ble  to  las'  so  long  on  account  they  ain't  like 
my  work  so  much  as  they  useter.  An'  besides  they 
ain't  no  mo'  houses  'roun'  where  I  lives  at  an'  seem' 
tha's  the  bes'  resydential  section  fo'  coloured  folks 
what  they  is  I  sort  of  hate  to  move  out  of  it." 

"  Doesn't  it  strike  you  that  the  Chinnerses  might 
feel  the  same  way  about  it?  " 

"  Them?  Naw!  They  is  got  a  baby,  Cap'n  Car- 
roll, an'  w'en  folks  has  babies  they  don'  keer  no 
mo'  'bouten  sassiety.  I  been  rentin'  fum  you  th'ee 
yeahs,  Boss-man,  an'  I  knows  good  an'  well  they 
ain't  nobody  gwine  git  nothin'  fo'  nothin',  so  I 
kinder  thought  if'n  I  was  to  pay  you  'bout  twen'y 
dollars  you  might  fin'  out  some  way  to  bus'  that 
lease  — eh?" 

Mr.  Carroll  chuckled.  He  liked  this  tall,  slim, 
clean  negro  whom  he  had  found  an  honest,  reliable 
tenant.  And  he  knew  there  was  some  compelling 
motive  behind  the  unusual  request,  especially  since 


224  POLISHED  EBONY 

it  was  backed  by  a  proffered  bribe  of  twenty  dol- 
lars —  cash. 

"  I  really  don't  believe  I  can  do  anything,  Derry ; 
but  I'll  take  the  money  and  try.  If  I  fail,  I'll  re- 
turn the  twenty." 

"  You  could  fin'  'nother  tenint  easy,  coulVt 
you?" 

"  That's  the  very  easiest  part  of  it,  Derry.  The 
rub  comes  from  Truman  Chinners.  If  he  doesn't 
care  to  move,  and  continues  to  pay  his  rent  —  I 
can't  put  him  out." 

"  G'wan,  Cap'n,"  retorted  Derry  with  glorious, 
grinning  confidence,  "  they  ain't  nothin'  you  coul'n't 
make  a  nigger  do  if'n  you  sot  yo'  min'  to  it." 

But  after  three  days  of  intensive  diplomatic  ef- 
fort, Mr.  Carroll  reported  that  he  was  unable  to 
influence  Truman  Chinners  to  vacate  his  home. 
"  Sorry,  Derry  —  but  there  wasn't  a  thing  stirring. 
Here's  your  twenty  — " 

Derry  waved  it  wearily  aside.  "  You  hoi'  on  to 
it,  Boss-man.  You  is  good  as  a  bank,  anyways. 
An'  they  ain't  nev'  no  tellin'  w'en  sumpin'  will 
come  up." 

"  I'm  afraid  nothing  will,"  was  the  cheerless  an- 
swer, "  unless  you  bring  it  about  yourself." 

Derry  looked  up  suddenly.  "  Onless  I  —  Boss- 
man,  you  sho'  spoke  a  mouthful  that  time." 

"  Meaning  what,  Derry?  " 

The  beginnings  of  a  thought  were  agitating 
Derry's  brain.  He  answered  vaguely.  "I  —  I 
ain't  know  yit — 'zac'ly  —  Cap'n.  Not  'zac'ly. 
But  I  sort  of  feel's  if  I  was  gwine  have  an  idee." 

He  left  the  office  of  the  real  estate  agent  and 
walked  homeward  with  long,  easy  strides.  And 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  225 

the  idea  which  had  been  begotten  of  Goodrich  Car- 
roll's casual  remark,  matured  rapidly.  Derry's 
brow  wrinkled  with  a  tumescence  of  thought  as  he 
swung  into  Avenue  H  and  paused  before  the  sanc- 
tum of  The  Princess  Rajjah  —  Clarevoyant  Extrior- 
dinary  —  Most  World  Famous  &  Cheapest.  For 
perhaps  ten  minutes  he  studied  that  sign  intently. 
Then  his  lips  expanded  to  a  broad,  red  smile  and 
the  smile  became  a  chuckle. 

"  Golly ! "  he  murmured,  "  Ise  gwine  take  a 
chancst.  They  ain't  nobody  superstishuser'n  Tru- 
man an'  Orpha  Chinners.  Not  nobody  a  tall." 

The  noon  hour  had  not  yet  chimed  and  by  the 
delay  in  answering  his  eager  ring,  Derry  correctly 
judged  that  the  clairvoyanting  business  was  on  a 
temporary  decline.  He  was  pleased  with  the  idea, 
but  not  a  little  surprised. 

From  the  day  of  the  Princess's  arrival,  darktown 
had  been  stirred  to  the  roots  over  her  undeniable 
soothsaying  prowess.  Much  wisdom  had  dripped 
sonorously  from  her  supposedly  East  Indian  lips 
in  a  dialect  suspiciously  Afro-American.  She  had 
discovered  lost  jewelry  and  brought  about  more 
than  one  marriage.  She  had  foretold  commercial 
successes  and  traced  the  past  with  a  vague  gener- 
ality which  carried  specific  meaning  to  the  gullible 
listeners.  In  short  —  The  Princess  Rajjah  had  be- 
come quite  the  society  rage. 

But  dollars  are  dollars,  and  even  a  clairvoyant 
who  sticks  consistently  to  the  silver  lining  in  her 
prognostications  must  discover  that  negro  pocket- 
books  are  not  elastic.  Having  one's  fortune  told 
was  a  luxury  which  few  could  afford  at  all,  and 
none  often.  At  the  hour  of  Derry's  arrival  Mr. 


22G  POLISHED  EBONY 

and  Mrs.  Princess  Rajjah  were  deep  in  discussion 
of  removal  to  new  and  more  fertile  fields. 

A  quick  glance  through  the  curtained  window, 
and  Mr.  Princess  Rajjah  postulated  that  a  new 
worshipper  was  come  to  the  shrine  of  the  infinite. 
He  swiftly  donned  a  gaudy  bathrobe  and  a  tall 
headgear  resembling  a  be-starred  dunce's  cap, 
whilst  Mrs.  Princess  slipped  out  of  her  kimono  and 
into  the  robes  of  state :  a  glass-jewelled  seance  cos- 
tume. She  placed  herself  in  a  cheese-cloth  booth 
behind  a  small  table  on  which  rested  a  crystal  globe. 
She  deftly  summoned  a  rapt  expression  and  plas- 
tered it  on  her  face. 

As  Derry  entered  the  room  he  was  impressed  in 
spite  of  himself.  A  few  Chinese  joss-sticks  burn- 
ing in  the  rear  blended  with  the  odour  of  breakfast 
onions  in  extremely  oriental  fashion.  More  —  the 
Princess  was  exceedingly  restful  on  discriminating 
masculine  eyes  in  her  soothsaying  regalia:  a  fact 
which  Derry  noticed  and  the  Princess  noticed  that 
he  noticed.  Derry  planked  down  his  dollar  and 
followed  directions  to  gaze  into  the  crystal  sphere. 

The  Princess  gave  a  full  dollar's  worth.  She 
was  unable  to  call  Derry's  name  but  she  told  ac- 
curately that  he  had  been  born  in  the  South,  that 
he  was  a  workingman,  married  (a  rash  guess  but  a 
good  one),  that  he  made  substantial  wages  (which 
fact  she  adduced  from  his  clothes),  that  he  held  a 
good  position  and  would  continue  to  hold  it,  that 
he  loved  his  wife  but  somehow  was  not  disinclined 
to  admire  the  pulchritude  of  women  more  beautiful 
than  Mrs.  Derry,  that  his  prospects  were  bright, 
that  he  would  achieve  his  heart's  desire  .  .  .  and, 
in  brief,  everything  in  the  patter  of  the  fake  for- 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  227 

tune  teller  which  is  Delphic  in  substance.  And 
the  more  she  talked  the  surer  Derry  became  of  his 
ground.  When  she  subsided  he  gave  a  phlegmatic 
"  Thanks  "  and  struck  straight  from  the  shoulder. 

"  If  n  you  c'n  tell  all  that  fo'  a  dollar,  Princess, 
I  reckon  you'd  spout  a  pow'ful  fine  fo'tune  fo'  'bout 
twen'y  —  wouldn't  you?  " 

The  subliminal  mind  of  the  clairvoyant  snapped 
quickly  out  of  tune  with  the  infinite.  Here  was 
earthly,  material  talk  which  she  understood  and 
she  made  a  record  journey  back  to  mundane  levels. 

"Twenty  dollars?" 

"  You  said  it." 

"Cash?" 

"  Spot." 

She  clutched  his  hand  but  he  jerked  it  away. 
"  Not  mine,"  he  explained. 

"  Oh ! " 

"  They's  a  man  in  this  heah  town  name  of  Tru- 
man Chinners.  I  wants  you  to  git  him  heah  an' 
tell  his  fo'tune." 

"  When  do  I  get  the  money?  " 

"  In  adwance.  On'y  I  ain't  want  you  to  tell  him 
no  fo'tune  like  what  you  is  jes'  been  tell  in'  me. 
If'n  I  shell  out  this  heah  twen'y  dollars  I  want  him 
toP  my  kin'  of  a  fo'tune." 

Professional  ethics  fought  a  brief  battle  with  the 
crying  needs  of  the  royal  larder  and  the  latter  was 
returned  victorious. 

"  Splain  yo'se'f,  Mistuh  - 

"  Nev'  min'  my  name.  It  mought  slip  out. 
What  I  wants  to  know  is  —  does  you  think  if'n  this 
heah  Truman  Chinners,  which  is  married  an'  has 
a  babv  also  —  if'n  he  come  heah  could  you  skeer 


228  POLISHED  EBONY 

him  so's  he'd  move  away  fum  the  house  where  he 
is  livin'  at  now?  P'efe'ably  away  fum  town  so's 
I  woul'n't  be  bothered  with  him  no  mo'?  He's 
pow'ful  s'perstishus,  Miss  Rajjah,  an'  if'n  you  c'd 
wuk  it — "  He  produced  his  wallet  significantly. 

The  Princess  sighed  profoundly.  She  knew  that 
the  tall,  good-looking  man  before  her  was  no  dis- 
ciple of  Karma  and  she  talked  plain  English.  "  I 
reckon  I  could  do  mos'  anything  hones'  fo'  twen'y 
dollars." 

Derry  hitched  his  chair  closer.  "  This  heah 
thing  ain't  not  on'y  hones',  Miss  Rajjah  —  it's  a 
pos'tive  cha'ity.  Lemme  staht  at  the  beginnin' — " 

A  half  hour  later  he  reached  the  end.  His  elo- 
quence had  swayed  the  hungry  Princess  and  she 
promised  to  excel  herself  in  bringing  about  the 
result  which  Derry  so  passionately  desired.  The 
two  ten-dollar  bills,  binding  the  bargain,  passed 
from  his  hands  to  hers  —  a  ceremonial  which  Mr. 
Princess  Rajjah  witnessed  gleefully  through  the 
portiers.  Business  was  decidedly  picking  up  and 
he  envisioned  a  Rajjah  feast  of  succulent  pork 
chops  and  tender,  crisp  apple  fritters. 

Narcissy  Moultrie  was  not  as  spontaneously  en- 
thusiastic as  the  Princess  over  the  news  of  the 
twenty.  "Ain't  you  reckon  she'd  of  did  it  fo' 
less'n  that,  Derry?  Not  that  I  ain't  sayin'  but 
what  'tis  a  good  idee,  but  twen'y  dollars  — " 

"  Huh !  "  retorted  Derry  loftily,  "  Princesses  ain't 
no  pikers,  Narcissy.  'Tain't  possible  to  git  'em  to 
wuk  fo'  you  fo'  a  cent  less'n  twen'y  dollars." 

"  Mebbe  come  she  ain't  no  Princess." 

"  Sho'  she  is.  She  say  she's  a  reg'lar  Hindu  fum 
Hindustanee.  But  if  n  she  is  or  she  ain't  don' 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  229 

make  no  diffe'ence  if n  she  gits  them  Chtnnerses 
away  fum  heah.  It  has  became  a  matter  of  p'in- 
ciple  with  me.  If'n  we  was  to  pack  up  an'  lef 
heah  Truman  Chinners'd  go  'roun'  tellin'  ev'ybody 
'bout  how  he  run  us  off.  .  .  ." 

The  wifely  jaw  squared.  "  That  bein'  the  case," 
she  said  grimly,  "I  reck'n  we  c'n  affo'd  to  spen' 
that  twen'y,  'specially  if'n  Cap'n  Carroll  gives  you 
back  the  twen'y  what  you  give  him  to  git  rid  of 
Truman  off'n  his  lease." 

Meanwhile  the  nocturnal  jangling  of  the  tele- 
phone was  temporarily  discontinued  and  an  armis- 
tice of  a  sort  declared  between  the  Chinners  and 
Moultrie  households.  Little  Wade  Hampton 
howled  psens  of  victory  in  the  stilly  hours  of  the 
night,  but  somehow  he  had  lost  his  .power  to  enrage 
the  Moultries.  They  realized  that  they  now  held 
eleven  of  the  trumps  and  they  patiently  awaited 
developments  from  the  realm  of  the  supernatural. 

Thus  far  Truman  Chinners  and  his  wife  had  bat- 
tled heroically  against  the  temptation  to  visit  the 
seeress  on  Avenue  H.  They  were  both  steeped  in 
superstition  and  fiercely  attracted  by  anything 
which  savoured  of  glimpsing  the  future;  but  they 
had  taken  unto  themselves  the  first  member  of  a 
second  generation  and  their  parental  duty  was 
plain.  They  could  not  afford  two  dollars  and  it 
was  romantically  unthinkable  that  one  should  go 
without  the  other. 

It  had  been  a  hard  battle,  but  conscientiousness 
and  the  necessity  for  economy  had  won  out.  Tru- 
man had  given  in  most  grudgingly.  The  future  did 
not  look  entirely  roseate  for  Chinners  pcre.  He 
had  recently,  in  the  glory  of  fatherhood,  and  the 


230  POLISHED  EBONY 

certainty  of  accomplishment  —  essayed  the  con- 
tract for  the  building  of  a  small  house  on  Seven- 
teenth Street.  Things  looked  bright  at  the  outset, 
but  two  of  his  best  workmen  had  accepted  more  at- 
tractive offers  elsewhere  and  in  order  to  get  new 
men  in  a  hurry  Truman  was  compelled  to  advance 
the  wage  scale  upon  which  his  bid  had  been  based. 
Then  bad  weather  took  a  hand  —  a  contingency 
which  was  not  provided  against  in  the  contract. 
The  day  for  the  completion  of  the  job  found  it  still 
unfinished,  and  the  following  week  saw  the  paper 
profits  melting  slowly  away,  until,  when  the  task 
was  finished  and  his  accounts  straightened,  Tru- 
man found  that  he  had  been  paying  the  owner  of 
the  little  house  seventy-two  cents  a  day  for  the 
privilege  of  working  for  him. 

Thereupon  he  decided  unanimously  that  the  con- 
tracting business  was  not  what  it  was  cracked  up 
to  be.  He  had  been  hoist  by  the  petard  of  his 
ambition  and  received  a  severe  setback.  He  ac- 
cepted five  days'  work  at  union  wages  and  was  glad 
to  get  them.  At  the  end  of  that  period  he  faced 
the  necessity  for  securing  anything  which  happened 
to  present  itself.  From  Orpha  he  received  little 
encouragement.  Orpha  was  too  absorbed  in  the 
temperamental  eccentricities  of  little  Wade  Hamp- 
ton Chinners  to  hear  the  not  too  distant  bowlings 
of  the  wolf. 

The  night  after  Berry's  conversation  with  the 
Princess  Rajjah,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Simeon  Broughton 
called  upon  the  Chinnerses.  Simeon  —  big,  bluff 
and  hearty  —  was  good-naturedly  tolerant  of  the 
effervescence  of  his  radiant  young  wife.  As  for 
Pearl,  she  was  fairly  bubbling  over  with  excite- 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  231 

ment  inspired  by  the  brummagem  display  and  con- 
vincing chatter  of  the  Princess. 

"We  is  jes'  come  fum  the  Princess  Rajjah's," 
she  exclaimed,  "  an'  she's  sho1  the  wonderfullest 
'ooman.  .  .  ." 

Truman  squirmed.  "  Reckon  she  is,"  he  re- 
turned wistfully. 

"  She  done  tol'  me  an'  Simeon  all  'bout  ourselfs, 
an' —  an' — "  She  paused  impressively.  "  She 
done  call  yo'all's  name  right  out." 

Mr.  Truman  Chinners  stiffened.     "  What f" 

"  Sho'  nuff !    Ain't  it  the  truth,  Simeon?  " 

The  giant  of  a  man,  who  made  an  excellent  and 
steady  living  as  community  gardener  for  fashion- 
able white  folks  in  the  summer  months  and  fur- 
nace chaperone  in  winter  —  nodded  his  head.  The 
fact  that  Simeon  was-  impressed  had  a  two-fold  ef- 
fect on  the  naturally  credulous  Truman. 

"  She  —  she  said  sumthin'  'bout  usf  " 

"  Yeh.  .  .  .  She  say :  '  I  see  two  figgers  flyin' 
'roun'  a  house  on  Eighteenth  street,'  she  say,  jes' 
like  that.  *  One  of  them  they  figgers  is  name'  Op- 
portunity an'  one  of  'em  is  name'  Trouble.'  Hones', 
Mistuh  Chinners,  she  say  it  jes'  'zac'ly  like  that. 
Ain't  that  the  Gawd's  truth,  Simeon?  " 

"  Yeh  —  jes'  thataway." 

"An' — an'  what  else?  "  quavered  Truman  Chin- 
ners. 

"  She  say :  1 1  see  a  name  —  name  of  Chinners. 
An'  two  figgers  —  one  name'  Opportunity  an'  one 
name'  Trouble.  They  is  flyin'  'roun'  the  Chin- 
nerses'  house.  Whar  this  heah  Mistuh  Chinners  is 
at?'  Then  she  kinder  stop  an1  git  ghosty:  'I 
must  see  Mistuh  Chinners,'  she  say.  '  Is  Mistuh 


232  POLISHED  EBONY 

Chinners  in  the  house  right  now  at  p'esent?'" 

Truman  had  turned  a  pale  green.  "  You  —  you 
ain't  makin'  fumadiddles  with  me,  is  you,  Mis' 
Broughton?  " 

"  Co'se  I  ain't.  I  ain't  no  jokin'  gal  whar  sper- 
rits  is  consarned  at." 

"  What  else  she  say?  " 

"  Nothin'." 

" Not  nothin' tall?" 

"  Nary  'nother  word." 

After  the  Broughtons  had  departed  Truman 
paced  the  floor.  His  psychic  condition  was  piti- 
able. He  was  infinitely  worried  —  but  not  too  wor- 
ried to  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone.  Since  his 
emotional  seethe  commanded  that  he  walk,  he 
carried  Wade  Hampton  Chinners  in  his  paternal 
arms,  much  to  that  young  gentleman's  delight. 

The  Infinite  had  spoken  through  the  lips  of  the 
Princess  Raj jah  —  lips  which  were  even  at  that 
moment  smacking  most  unethereally  over  the  juicy 
pork  chops  purchased  with  Derry  Moultrie's  money. 
Had  Derry  been  gifted  with  occult  powers  he  would 
have  revelled  in  the  knowledge  of  Truman  Chin- 
ners' mental  turmoil. 

Truman  fought  it  out  by  himself.  The  Princess 
Rajjah  could  not  have  hit  upon  two  words  more 
calculated  to  hopelessly  intrigue  his  interest.  Op- 
portunity:—  he  was  seeking  Opportunity  as  no 
man  seeks  it  until  he  faces  a  period  barren  of  work. 
And  the  trouble  omen  ...  he  cast  a  wild  glance 
at  the  cherubic  face  of  his  now  sleeping  son.  Trou- 
ble meant  Wade  Hampton  —  he  was  quite  sure  of 
that.  He  discussed  the  matter  with  Orpha  but 
Orpha  could  not  see  things  his  way.  She  knew 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  283 

little  of  his  foggy  business  vista  and  to  her  a  dollar 
expended  upon  the  Princess  Rajjah  was  a  dollar 
spent  for  selfish,  inexcusable  indulgence.  "  Fo'  a 
dollar,"  she  expounded,  "we  c'n  pay  the  fust  in- 
stallment on  that  carri'ge  down  to  the  fu'niture 
man's,  an'  Wade  Hampton  is  jes'  nacherally  got  to 
have  him  a  carri'ge.  'Tain't  decent  not  to." 

Truman  gave  in.  He  did  it  reluctantly,  stub- 
bornly, and  with  an  ill-will.  But  he  gave  in. 

But  when,  on  the  following  night  Florian  Slap- 
pey  —  wealthy  mentor  of  the  younger  social  set, 
breezed  in  on  them  with  news  that  once  again  the 
prophetic  figures  had  appeared  to  the  gaze  of  the 
Princess  Rajjah  as  floating  over  the  Chinners'  home, 
and  that  she  imperiously  demanded  the  presence  of 
Truman  Chinners  if  he  was  to  be  saved  disaster 
to  "  some  one  in  that  they  home  what  is  got  the 
initials  W.  H.  C. — "  Truman  Chinners  went  and 
he  went  fast. 

His  chest  was  heaving  and  his  forehead  beaded 
with  cold  perspiration  as  he  presented  himself  be- 
fore the  Princess  Rajjah.  She  dismissed  two  wait- 
ing disciples  and  cannily  accepted  his  dollar.  He 
was  vastly  impressed  by  the  tawdry  glitter.  He 
watched  her  as  she  focussed  her  eyes  on  the  polished 
crystal  and  slipped  promptly  into  a  thoroughly 
efficient  and  impressive  trance. 

She  started  speaking.  Sure  of  her  ground  — 
thanks  to  the  exhaustive  biographies  furnished  by 
the  foresighted  Derry  Moultrie  —  she  spoke  with 
perfect  assurance.  No  generalities  crept  in  to  mar 
the  convincing  effect.  Her  nuance  was  deep  and 
throaty  and  not  unmusical.  With  the  finely  de- 
veloped theatric  instinct  of  her  race  she  swayed 


234  POLISHED  EBONY 

her  lithe,  shapely  body,  rolled  her  eyes  until  the 
whites  showed  terrifyingly  and  intoned  her  spirit 
message. 

"  Yo'  name  is  Chinners  —  Chinners  —  lemme  see : 
Tru  —  Truman  Chinners.  You  is  got  a  wife  name' 
Orpha  —  tha's  it  —  Orpha  Chinners.  Tha's  yo' 
wife's  name.  You  lives  on  Eighteenth  Street 
'tween  Avenues  G  an'  H :  tha's  whar  you  lives  at, 
Truman  Chinners.  You  lives  right  they.  I  see  a 
thi'd  member  of  the  fam'ly  —  ve'y  small  an'  tiny 
—  a  li'l  bitsy  baby.  Name' — name' — is  it  Wade 
Hampton  Chinners?  Is  that  the  name,  Truman 
Chinners?  " 

"  Yeh  .  .  .  yeh.  .  .  .  Tha's  my  baby.  Tha's 
him." 

Truman  was  in  a  pitiful  condition.  Every  mus- 
cle in  his  short,  heavy-set  body  was  tensed.  He 
was  leaning  forward  in  his  chair,  hands  clutching 
the  table-edge,  eyes  popping  from  their  sockets. 
He  was  the  type  of  subject  to  warm  the  cockles 
of  a  good  soothsayer's  heart.  And  the  Princess 
Rajjah  was  not  slow  in  responding  to  his  flattering 
gullibility. 

"  They  is  a  figger  floatin'  'roun'  yo'  home,  Tru- 
man Chinners  —  a  figger  —  a  figger.  .  .  .  Figger 
name'  Opportunity.  It  is  talkin' — talkin'.  .  .  . 
It  say :  *  Truman  Chinners,  you  mus'  leave  off  f um 
livin'  whar  you  is  at ! '  It  say :  '  Truman  Chin- 
ners, they  is  a  chancst  fo'  you  to  make  a  heap  of 
money  —  a  heap  of  money  —  away  —  west  —  west. 
.  .  .  Fo'  you  to  make  piles  of  money  —  west.  .  .  .'" 

"  Wes'fiel'?  "  breathed  Truman. 

"Westfield.  An'  they  is  'nother  figger  a-flyin' 
'roun'  'longside  ol'  Opportunity,  Truman  Chinners, 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  235 

an'  his  name  is  Trouble  —  OP  Trouble  flyin'  'long 
with  Opportunity.  An'  Trouble  is  talkin' —  talkin'. 
.  .  .  Trouble  is  p'intin'  down  th'ough  the  ruf  of 
yo'  house,  Truman  Chinners,  p'intin'  to  a  li'l  baby 

—  a    li'l    baby.  .  .  .  Baby    name' — name'    Wade 
Hampton  Chinners.     Trouble  p'intin'  to  the  baby 

—  to  that  they  baby.  .  .  . 

"  Trouble  lookin'  pow'f  ul  dahk  on  that  baby,  Tru- 
man Chinners  .  .  .  it's  trouble  fum  nearabouts  — 
trouble  fum  yo'  neighbors.  .  .  ." 

Truman  shook  as  with  ague.  "  That'll  be  Derry 
an'  Narcissy  Moultrie !  " 

"  Trouble  ain't  mention  no  names,"  continued  the 
medium  craftily,  "  ain't  mention  no  names  — 
'ceptin'  on'y  he  is  lookin'  west  an'  smilin'  .  .  . 
sayin'  if  you  leave  off  fum  livin'  whar  you  is  livin' 
at  an'  go  t'wa'ds  the  settin'  sun  they  ain't  gwine 
be  no  mo'  trouble.  But  w'en  he  looks  east  or 
st'aight  down — 'specially  st'aight  down  —  he's 
frownin'  sumpin'  terrible.  Trouble,  Truman  Chin- 
ners, trouble  fo'  the  li'l  baby  less'n  you  move  fum 
livin'  whar  you  is  at !  " 

Truman's  spine  was  all  marrow  when  he  reached 
home.  The  incantations  of  the  Princess  Kajjah 
lost  nothing  in  the  retelling.  He  passed  an  appre- 
hensive night  within  easy  reach  of  a  revolver,  his 
eyes  fixed  menacingly  upon  the  thin  board  parti- 
tion which  separated  his  home  from  the  Moultrie 
domicile. 

To  say  that  he  and  his  wife  were  convinced  of 
impending  danger  is  to  display  rank  conservatism. 
They  were  fairly  petrified  with  terror  and  at  dawn 
of  the  next  day  they  started  preparations  which 
were  more  hasty  than  thorough. 


236  POLISHED  EBONY 

It  was  a  red-letter  day  for  the  Moultries  who  sat 
grinningly  in  their  dining-room  and  barkened  to 
the  sweet  music  of  preparation  for  the  exodus. 
"  Twen'y  dollars,"  breathed  Derry.  "  It's  cheap  at 
twice  the  price !  " 

That  afternoon  the  Chinners  evacuated  the  ill- 
omened  Eighteenth  Street  house,  their  belongings 
piled  high  in  a  rickety  one-horse  dray.  The  family 
boarded  a  street-car  and  disappeared  from  the 
neighbourhood.  The  Moultries  relaxed  in  supine 
bliss.  Then  they  prepared  for  a  fitting  celebration. 

They  were  too  happy  to  be  satisfied  with  their 
own  society.  Informal  invitations  were  telephoned 
and  by  nine  o'clock  p.  M.  the  revelry  was  in  full 
swing.  It  lasted  until  two  in  the  morning :  a  hodge- 
podge of  dancing  and  soft  drinks  and  peanuts  and 
popcorn  and  ten-cent-store  candies.  For  a  spon- 
taneous affair  it  was  a  signal  triumph. 

And,  free  from  the  yowlings  of  the  Chinners  heir, 
Derry  and  Narcissy  slept  as  they  had  not  —  not 
since  the  next-door  visit  of  the  stork  many  weeks 
previously.  They  slumbered  the  sleep  of  the  wholly 
righteous  and  utterly  exhausted.  When  they  waked 
the  sun  had  already  mounted  brilliantly  to 
mid-heaven  and  their  breakfast  doubled  as 
lunch. 

It  was  too  late  for  Derry  to  consider  working 
and  he  and  Narcissy  declared  a  holiday.  Derry 
robed  himself  in  his  best  suit  —  a  black-and-white 
checked  affair  which  had  long  been  the  pride  of 
his  social  hours.  Narcissy  was  radiant  in  a  blue- 
plumed  white  hat,  a  gorgeously  embroidered  crepe- 
de-Chine  waist,  a  blue  serge  skirt  and  a  shiny,  crim- 
son belt.  They  made  an  attractive  picture  as  they 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  237 

strutted  townward,  and,  once  in  the  centre  of  the' 
city,  Derry  turned  eastward. 

"  Whar  you  is  gwine,  Derry?  " 

Derry  chuckled.  "  Ov'  to  git  that  twen'y  dollars 
back  fum  Cap'n  Carroll." 

The  real  estate  agent  greeted  them  genially  and 
burst  immediately  into  words.  "  I  have  some 
mighty  good  news  for  you  folks,"  he  said. 

"Yassuh?" 

"  I  got  rid  of  the  Chinnerses." 

"  You  got'n  rid.  .  .  ." 

"  Surest  thing,  you  know.  Truman  Chinners 
happened  up  in  my  office  yesterday  morning  and 
I  grabbed  him.  I  didn't  mince  matters.  '  This  is 
your  last  chance,  Truman,'  I  said  positively: 
1  Will  you  or  will  you  not  take  twenty  dollars  for 
your  lease?'  Trust  Goodrich  Carroll  not  to  give 
him  a  chance  to  raise  the  ante.  l  Answer  yes  or 
no,'  I  said,  *  and  be  quick ! ' ' 

Derry  felt  slightly  ill.  "I  — I  — reckon  he 
didn't  hahdly  consider  it  ve'y  long,  did  he,  Cap'n?  " 

"  Nope !  "  cheerfully.  "  He  snapped  me  right  up. 
1  Where's  the  twenty? '  he  asked,  and  I  forked  over 
your  two  ten-dollar  bills.  I  was  going  to  ride  by 
this  afternoon  to  tell  you  the  good  news." 

"  Thanks.  .  .  .  Say,  Cap'n,  reckon  you  didn't 
happen  to  ast  him  what  fo'  he  come  up  to  see  you 
'bout,  did  you?" 

Mr.  Carroll  shook  his  head.  "  Why,  no.  Now 
that  you  mention  it,  I  don't  think  I  did." 

"  Thought  not,"  murmured  Derry  dully. 

"  Why?  " 

"  Nothin'." 

"  You  must  have  had  a  reason  for  asking  — " 


238  POLISHED  EBONY 

"Ain't  no  reason — 'ceptin'  on'y  I  got  a  hunch 
Truman  was  comin'  heah  to  offer  you  money  fo' 
lettin'  him  git  out  of  the  lease." 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  Derry." 

"Cain't  help  it,  Cap'n  Carroll.  Guess'n  I  was 
bohn  foolish." 

He  and  Narcissy  turned  sadly  away.  That  his 
twenty  dollars  had  been  unnecessarily  paid  over 
to  Truman  Chinners  put  a  thorough  damper  on 
their  jollity.  Now  that  Wade  Hampton  had  de- 
parted and  his  wailings  become  mere  memory,  he 
loomed  less  formidable  and  the  forty  dollars  much 
larger.  The  angle  of  perspective  was  changed. 
Derry  and  Narcissy  found  themselves  looking 
through  the  reverse  end  of  the  telescope. 

"Got  another  tenint?"  queried  Derry  apathet- 
ically. 

Carroll  rubbed  his  hands.  "  Certainly  have. 
They'll  move  in  tomorrow." 

"Name'  which?" 

"  Preston,  I  think.  Not  sure,  though.  Anyway, 
they're  paying  me  two  and  a  half  more  per  month 
than  Truman  Chinners  —  so  I  really  owe  you  a 
debt  of  gratitude." 

"  Huh !  Ise  shuah  glad  somebody  owes  me 
sumthin'.  It's  a  pow'ful  strange  feelin'  these  heah 
days." 

Sleep  did  not  come  easily  to  Derry  Moultrie  that 
night.  The  farther  away  his  forty  dollars,  the 
more  attractive  they  seemed.  Narcissy  sensed  his 
mood  and  refrained  from  nagging  —  too  much. 
But  she  nagged  sufficiently  to  make  Derry  glad 
when  morning  came  and  he  could  depart  for  his 
day's  labours  in  Westfield. 


A  HOUSE  DIVIDED  239 

At  two  o'clock  that  afternoon  he  reappeared. 
But  he  was  not  empty-handed.  His  right  fist 
clutched  the  workbox  containing  his  tools.  He  was 
a-tremble  with  fury  and  there  was  blood  in  his  eye. 
He  flung  into  the  house  without  a  word  and 
slammed  his  tool-box  down  on  the  best  rug.  There 
was  no  hint  of  apology  accompanying  the  act. 

Circumstance  and  instinct  combined  to  warn 
Narcissy  that  this  was  no  time  for  fault-finding. 
She  bided  her  time,  awaiting  the  inevitable  open- 
ing of  the  verbal  floodgates.  It  came  in  a  single 
fervid  expletive : 

"  Damn !  "  spat  Derry. 

"  What  —  what  you  doin'  home  this  heah  time 
of  day,  Hon?  " 

"  Ise  home  an'  Ise  gwine  stay  home !  They's 
some  things  no  se'f-respectin'  man  c'n  stan' ! " 

"  Sumthin'  wrong?  " 

"  Sumthin'  wrong?  Jes'  heah  that  'ooman ! 
Sumthin'  wrong?  Huh!  Whyn't  you  ask  me  is 
sumthin'  right?  " 

Narcissy  waited  patiently.  She  knew  her  hus- 
band. "  Yeh?  "  she  suggested. 

"  It's  that  they  Princess  Raj  jah  —  what  you 
think  she  done  did?  " 

"What?" 

"  She's  went  an'  sent  Truman  Chinners  ov'  to 
Wes'fieP  lookin'  fo'  a  job." 

"  To  Wes'fieP  whar  you  wuks  at?  " 

"Wharldtdwukat!" 

"Did  he  git  him  a  job?" 

"  Did  he?  Trus'  a  feller  like  him  to  Ian'  right. 
He  goes  out  they  an'  tells  them  white-folks  he's  a 
contractor  an'  gives  the  name  of  the  feller  he  done 


240  POLISHED  EBONY 

b'ilt  that  house  fo'  what  he  botched  up  so  bad. 
They  call  the -man  up  an'  he  gives  Truman  a  rec- 
comen'  .  .  .  an'  they  goes  an'  hires  him  — "  he 
paused  and  fairly  shot  out  the  final  words:  "As 
a  foreman! " 

"  Foreman?  " 

"  An'  that  ain't  the  wo'st  of  it,"  continued  Derry 
bitterly.  "  They  makes  him  foreman  ov'  the  job 
what  I  is  workin'  on.  Jes'  like  what  I  is  said  — 
they  is  some  things  which  is  too  much  fo'  any  se'f- 
respectin'  man  to  stan'  .  .  .  an'  I  quit !  Quit  col' ! 
Tha's  better,  I  says  to  myse'f,  than  waitin'  twell 
Truman  Chinners  fires  me !  " 

A  pregnant  silence  ensued.  It  jarred  on  the 
nerves  of  Derry  Moultrie.  He  looked  up  and  met 
his  wife's  eyes. 

"What's  eatin'  you,  Narcissy?  You  ain't  look 
so  happy  yo'se'f." 

"  I  ain't" 

"'Count  of  which?" 

"  Them  new  tenints  —  them  Prestons  which 
moved  in  nex'  do'  this  mawnin',  Derry." 

"  Well  .  .  .  what  'bout  'em?  " 

"  Nothin'  .  .  .  'ceptin'  on'y  that  they  is  got  twins 
th'ee  months  old!" 


POPPY  PASSES 


POPPY  PASSES 

ELLICK  PINCKNEY  sank  twin  rows  of  glis- 
tening teeth  into  a  crisp,  juicy  winesap. 
He  relaxed  luxuriously  in  the  moth-eaten 
upholstery  and  allowed  his  eyes  to  dwell  with  in- 
finite appreciation  on  the  curry,  marvellously 
garbed  figure  of  Poppy  Blevins. 

Poppy  was  extremely  restful  on  the  eyes.  She 
was  considerably  shorter  than  the  elongated  Ellick 
but  nature  and  applied  science  had  conspired  to 
make  of  her  a  creature  desired  by  men. 

She  was  a  woman  of  culture,  of  poise  and  of 
fascinating  6lan.  Her  complexion  was  a  rich 
chocolate,  her  wealth  of  hair  a  bewitching  blend 
of  inherited  kink  and  carefully  cultivated  straight- 
ness.  She  had  wide-open,  flashing  eyes  and  a  vain- 
pirish  art  in  using  them.  Every  move  was  har- 
mony to  which  her  rich  contralto  voice  played 
obligato. 

Ellick  sighed.  "  You  sho'  is  a  woman  to  do  any 
man  proud,  Poppy." 

"  Huh !  Ain't  you  men  never  think  of  nothin' 
new  to  tell  a  gal?" 

"  I  reckon  others  is  tol'  you  that  befo',  ain't 
they?  "  he  inquired  jealously. 

"  Reckon  so."  She  smiled  with  satisfaction  and 
placed  one  laced  boot  carefully  atop  its  mate  while 
she  shamelessly  angled  for  further  flattery.  "  I 
ain't  see  what's  so  'tractive  bout'n  me." 

243 


244  POLISHED  EBONY 

"I  does,"  returned  Ellick  wistfully,  "an'  I 
reckon  either  I  ain't  the  on'y  one." 

She  raised  her  eyes  swiftly.     "  Meanin'  which?  " 

"  Acey  Upshaw !  "  The  name  spewed  from  be- 
tween his  lips  with  a  nuance  of  intransigent  dis- 
taste. 

Poppy  Blevins  shrugged.     "  Mebbe  so  he  does." 

"  I  ain't  like  that  man,  Poppy." 

"  Neither  he  don'  like  you." 

"  If 'n  you  an'  me  was  engage' — "  hopefully. 

"  We  ain't." 

"  We  was  built  fo'  one  'nother,  Poppy.  We  likes 
the  same  things,  an' — " 

"  Coul'n't  git  'em  if'n  we  was  married,"  she  re- 
torted practically.  "  W'en  I  marries,  Ellick,  I 
marries  fo'  love;  but  also  I  is  gwine  marry  a  man 
which  c'n  s'phot  me  in  the  way  I  been  use'  to. 
You  know  puffec'ly  well.  .  .  ." 

"  My  business  is  goin'  good."  He  envisioned  his 
tiny  shoe  repair  shope  with  its  antique  equipment 
and  its  perturbing  cloudiness  of  title.  "  Goin' 
good  .  .  ."  he  echoed  with  less  confidence. 

"  'Tain't  yourn!  "  flashed  the  girl. 

"  Will  be." 

"  You  ain't  never  paid  Acey  Upshaw  that  last 
'stalment,  is  you?  " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  When  you  gwine  pay  it?  " 

"  Pretty  soon,"  he  answered  vaguely.  "  Soon's 
I  git  the  money.  If'n  'twas  anybody  'ceptin'  oP 
Acey  I  wouldn't  min',  but  that  or  secon'-han'  irniny- 
tation  of  a  wore  out  firecracker  woul'n't  give  his 
own  mother  a  'stension  on  a  note.  He  ain't  good 
fo'  nothin'  'ceptin'  on'y  c'lectin'  dollars." 


POPPY  PASSES  245 

"  They's  worser  faults  than  what  that  is,  Ellick," 

"  I  was  a  bohn  idjit  to  buy  that  shoe  shop  offen 
Acey.  On'y  I  wan'ed  to  git  a  business  of  my  own 
so's  you  woul'n't  half  to  marry  no  man  what  hel' 
a  job.  An'  I'd  own  it,  too;  come  him  to  give  me 
a  sixty-day  'stension.  I  been  soht  of  thinkin', 
Poppy  —  soht  of  thinkin' — mebbe  you  —  him  — 
mebbe  if 'n  you  ast  him  — " 

The  radiant  butterfly  shrugged  with  vast  indiffer- 
ence. She  had  as  little  real  interest  in  Ellick's 
business  affairs  as  she  had  understanding  of  them. 
"  Ise  got  troubles  of  my  own,  Ellick." 

"Soht  of  which?" 

"  I  got  a  hearin'  from  my  sister  today.  She 
'lows  my  or  man  gotten  eight  hund'ed  dollars 
from  the  railroad  count'n  they  cut  his  lef  ban' 
off  an'  they's  cornin'  out  heah  to  make  visit  with 
me." 

"All  of  them?" 

She  nodded.  "  Whole  crowd :  Mom  an'  Pa  an' 
Lithia.  Letter  said  they  was  leavin'  Sat'dy,  gittin' 
heah  Sunday  night  an'  fo'  me  to  'range  so's  they 
c'n  boahd  whar  I  is  at." 

"  Whar  they  livin'  at  now?  " 

"  Cha'leston." 

"  South  Ca'lina?  " 

"  Uh-huh !  An'  they  ain't  gwine  do  nothin' 
'ceptin'  on'y  be  in  the  way,  Ellick.  I  jes'  ain't  need 
'em.  Nor  neither  they  ain't  gwine  like  it  heah 
count'n  they  is  from  Cha'leston." 

"  What  that  got  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  They  is  two  kin's  of  niggers,"  the  girl  an- 
swered profoundly,  "  Cha'leston  niggers  an'  nig- 
gers. Cha'leston  niggers  is  diffe'ent  from  other 


POLISHED  EBONY 

niggers  an'  they  never  fit  in  nowheres  else  'scusin' 
on'y  w'en  they  is  caught  young  like  what  1  was. 
They  ain't  country  nor  neither  they  ain't  city. 
They  ain't  much  of  anythin'.  They  ain't  got  no 
style.  They  talks  funny.  I  reckon  they  is  gwine 
'barrass  me  sumthin'  terrible  wThile  they  is  heah, 
Ellick ;  less'n  my  f rien's  he'p  me  out  by  takin'  them 
off'n  my  han's." 

"  You  ain't  shame'  of  yo'  folks,  is  you,  Poppy?  " 
She  shook  her  head  impatiently.  "  I  ain't  shame' 
of  them  s'long's  they  ain't  heah.  But  w'en  they  is 
heah  I  is  in  bad.  I  an'  them  don'  move  in  the 
same  soht  of  sassiety.  How  you  reckon  they  is 
gwine  look  'longside  by  sassiety  wimmin  like  Pearl 
Broughton  an'  Cha'ity  Driver  an'  Imigene  Rush 
an'  lone  Segar  an'  Gussie  Muck  an'  Mallissie  Cheese 
an'  Narcissy  Moultrie  an'  Vistar  Goins?  How  you 
think  my  folks  is  gwine  ac'  'long  with  them  ladies? 
Cha'leston  niggers  ain't  got  on'y  one  idea,  Ellick, 
an'  that  is  how  long  ontil  the  nex'  meal  is. 
What  they  ain't  got  is  no  soul.  An'  they's  more'n 
a  few  of  these  heah  wimmin  in  this  town,  Ellick, 
which  would  be  pow'ful  glad  to  sneer  at  me  'cause 
my  folks  ain't  swell  like  what  theirs  is.  I  reckon 
my  fambly  stahted  back  jes'  bout'n  far  as  theirs 
done." 

"  Even  if  they  ain't  travel  so  fast  sencst,  huh?  " 
"  Tha's  it/'     She  paused  and  glared  a  challenge 
at  Ellick.    He  plunged  hopefully.    "  Now,  if'n  you 
was  married  to  me,  Poppy  — " 

"  I  ain't  an'  I  ain't  aimin'  to  be.  Guess  a  father 
an'  a  mother  an'  a  frowsy  oF  sister  is  'nough  for 
one  gal  without  she  takes  a  husban'  too." 

"  Mebbe  they  ain't  on'y  gwine  stay  a  few  days," 


POPPY  PASSES  247 

he  encouraged,  sensing  the  depths  of  her  misery 
over  the  impending  visit. 

"  You  ain't  know  my  oF  man,"  she  gloomed. 
"  He  c'n  do  nothin'  better  an'  longer'n  any  man  I 
knows.  He  is  gwine  remain  heah  ontil  that  money 
is  all  gone  an'  then  mos'  likely  Mom'll  be  doin' 
washin'  an'  Lithia'll  have  a  job  somewheres  an' 
he  won't  want  to  go  back.  An'  as  fo'  Lithia  — 
she's  'bout  as  bad.  You  ain't  never  saw  no  gal 
like  what  she  is,  Ellick.  All  she  wears  clothes  for 
is  to  keep  from  goin'  nekkid.  She  ain't  got  no  mo' 
style'n  a  fried  oyster.  She  sho'  is  diffe'ent  from 
what  I  is." 

Ellick  gazed  appreciatively  at  the  exquisite 
Poppy, —  fashion  plate  of  the  coloured  social  set. 
Poppy's  wardrobe  was  as  much  of  an  eight-days' 
wonder  as  its  source  was  a  mystery.  No  one  under- 
stood quite  how  she  did  it.  True,  she  hired  out 
as  nursegirl  and  for  her  undeniably  efficient  serv- 
ices received  four  dollars  each  and  every  Saturday 
night.  But  the  wages  didn't  tally  with  her  wealth 
of  crepe-de-Chine  and  Georgette  waists,  her  glori- 
ously plaid  skirts,  her  high,  laced  boots,  her  sheer 
silk  hosiery. 

The  general  public  did  not  know  that  Poppy's 
shibboleth  was  clothes.  It  didn't  understand  that 
she  bought  her  garments  second-hand  from  the 
young  unmarried  daughter  of  the  household  wherein 
she  worked  nor  that  she  cheerfully  did  much  extra 
labour  for  the  possession  of  beautiful  and  one-time 
expensive  garments.  Poppy's  passion  for  pretty 
clothes  took  the  form  of  miserliness  carried  to  the 
ultimate,  and  their  attainment  the  only  goal  to- 
ward which  she  was  willing  to  expend  effort.  la 


248  POLISHED  EBONY 

all  other  things  in  life  she  was  supine:  too  jelly- 
fishy  even  to  be  described  antagonistic.  Of  course 
with  her  rainbow  raiment  was  the  inevitable  per- 
quisite of  social  recognition  .  .  .  and  beyond  that 
twin  triumph  she  had  no  thought. 

Poppy  was  vividly  aware  that  she  was  perhaps 
the  prettiest  girl  in  the  city's  Afro-American 
younger  set.  She  set  an  immense  value  on  her 
looks.  And  she  had  deliberately  planned  to  capi- 
talize her.  beauty  by  mercenary  marriage. 

Had  Poppy  been  governed  in  the  slightest  degree 
by  the  dictates  of  what  passed  muster  as  her  heart 
she  would  long  since  have  returned  an  affirmative 
answer  to  Ellick's  constant  and  passionate  avowals 
of  love.  But  at  best  her  affection  for  him  was 
shallow  —  albeit  it  was  as  deep  and  unselfish  a  love 
as  she  was  capable  of  harbouring.  Of  other  suit- 
ors she  had  at  least  two  score  but  they  were  ambi- 
tionless  men  who  worked  as  elevator  boys,  second 
assistant  janitors,  salaried  taxi  drivers,  delivery 
men  .  .  .  with  weekly  wages  ranging  from  four  to 
eight  dollars.  They  were  automatically  beyond 
the  pale.  Only  Acey  Upshaw  remained  with  El- 
lick  on  the  eligible  list. 

Acey  was  rich.  Acey's  dear  departed  father  had 
owned  a  small  farm  adjoining  one  from  which  a 
few  drops  of  oil  had  been  squeezed  some  three  years 
previously  —  Acey  at  that  time  being  the  proprie- 
tor of  the  Star  Shoe  Repairing  Parlour  —  We  Fix 
Them  Good  While  You  Wait:  —  a  one-man  estab- 
lishment with  possibilities  and  little  else. 

The  process  of  producing  a  little  oil  from  the 
innards  of  the  farm  adjoining  the  Upshaw  prop- 
erty had  been  negotiated  by  a  promoter  who  was  a 


POPPY  PASSES  249 

past  master  in  the  gentle  art  of  fooling  all  of  the 
public  some  of  the  time.  In  the  enthusiastic  rush 
which  followed,  Acey's  father  sold  out  for  five 
thousand  dollars.  Some  said  the  shock  killed  him. 
Certainly  he  became  entirely  defunct. 

He  was  buried  with  pomp  by  the  Over  The  River 
Burying  Society  of  which  he  was  past  president. 
The  funeral  was  quite  the  longest  which  the  quiet 
little  country  town  had  seen  in  years.  Acey  did 
his  ex-parent  proud  by  generously  furnishing  a  full 
brass  band  and  refreshments  for  more  than  two 
hundred  joyfully  earnest  mourners.  After  the 
brief  formalities  attendant  upon  settling  the  cash 
estate,  Acey  returned  to  the  city  of  his  choice  and 
branched  out  as  part  owner  of  a  flourishing  taxi- 
cab  business. 

For  awhile  he  clung  to  the  shoe  shop,  his  motives 
being  part  sentimental  and  part  practical  —  he  had 
difficulty  in  locating  a  purchaser.  Five  months 
previously  Ellick  Pinckney  had  nibbled  —  then 
fallen.  Ellick  signed  a  contract  which  had  been 
drawn  up  by  a  keen  negro  lawyer,  made  a  small 
first  payment,  paid  again  at  the  end  of  a  two- 
months'  period,  made  still  another  contribution  to- 
ward the  purchase  price  when  four  months  had 
elapsed  and  now  faced  the  grim  necessity  for  final 
payment  at  the  termination  of  the  sixth  month  — 
distant  some  thirty  days. 

The  original  contract  had  been  drafted  in  the 
days  when  Acey  and  Ellick  were  pals,  before  the 
sinister  influence  of  rivalry  had  builded  a  barrier 
of  hatred  between  them.  Ellick  now  knew  that 
Acey  desired  nothing  so  much  as  the  opportunity  to 
retain  both  The  Star  Shoe  Repairing  Parlour  and 


250  POLISHED  EBONY 

the  money  paid  out  by  the  unfortunate   Ellick. 

From  the  standpoint  of  the  frankly  mercenary 
Poppy,  marriage  to  Acey  was  a  very  good  thing 
indeed.  True,  insofar  as  her  personal  preferences 
were  concerned,  she  favoured  wifehood  to  the  easy- 
going, good-natured,  society-loving  Ellick.  Ellick 
was  a  city  product,  born  and  bred.  Acey  was  con- 
genitally  provincial  and  had  resided  in  a  metro- 
politan atmosphere  for  less  than  five  years. 

But  he  was  hopelessly  enmeshed  in  the  mesmer- 
ising spell  of  Poppy's  radiant  personality  and  prom- 
ised to  be  a  good  thing  as  a  husband.  Certainly 
there  was  no  doubting  his  ownership  of  the  ducats 
necessary  to  supply  her  with  the  sensuous  comfort 
of  clothes  and  ease  and  social  eminence  which  con- 
stituted her  paramount  desires. 

Poppy  was  canny.  She  was  sufficiently  fond  of 
Ellick  to  content  herself  with  a  little  less  affluence 
as  his  wife,  and  so  she  had  cleverly  kept  the  two 
men  dangling  whilst  she  cold-bloodedly  weighed 
them  in  the  balance.  She  knew  that  either  man 
was  hers  on  the  moment's  asking.  She  reduced 
them  both  to  the  state  of  mental  seethe  where  each 
imagined  that  he  was  pledged  to  her  while  under- 
standing clearly  that  she  was  in  no  way  committed 
to  him.  Meanwhile  she  was  content  with  the  joint 
and  several  adoration  and  smugly  cognizant  of  the 
fact  that  their  voluntary  servitude  enhanced  her 
social  prestige. 

So  she  had  drifted  on  in  a  state  of  blissful  lassi- 
tude, worrying  little  about  today  and  less  about 
tomorrow,  enjoying  herself  hugely  and  content  to 
let  her  destinies  shape  themselves  .  .  .  and  now 
this  had  come ! 


POPPY  PASSES  251 

Poppy  was  exceedingly  peeved  over  the  impend- 
ing visit.  She  was  frankly  and  thoroughly 
ashamed  of  her  family.  Of  her  sister  she  knew 
little :  Lithia  had  been  a  wild-eyed,  skinny-legged 
street  urchin  when  Poppy  departed  the  ancestral 
homestead  in  Kirkland  Lane,  but  she  knew  that 
her  parents  were  uncouth  and  destined  not  only  to 
remain  out  of  the  picture  of  the  city's  negro  society 
set  —  but  to  destroy  her  prestige  as  well. 

Background  was  essential  to  Poppy.  She  was 
entirely  superficial  herself  and  a  single  false  note 
was  certain  to  beget  clanging  discord.  She  af- 
fected regal  airs  and  had  boasted  of  her  family. 
She  was  thoroughly  detested  for  the  superiority 
which  she  assumed  and  there  were  many  society 
matrons  eager  for  a  chance  to  lop  off  her  social 
head.  She  knew  that  her  bubble  was  about  to  go 
bust  which  meant,  of  course,  that  in  order  to  save 
her  face  she  would  be  forced  into  immediate  matri- 
mony with  Acey  Upshaw  —  a  state  which  she  did 
not  particularly  desire  despite  the  obvious  and 
manifold  benefits  accruing  from  such  a  match. 
There  was,  in  her  two-bit  soul,  a  wee  mite  of  a 
spark  which  impelled  her  to  hesitate  before  relin- 
quishing all  hold  on  the  faithful  and  enraptured 
Ellick. 

As  to  the  inevitability  of  the  family  visit  — 
Poppy  knew  that  there  was  nothing  to  do  and  she 
did  it.  When  the  Southern  train  from  Atlanta 
wheezed  under  the  shed  of  the  handsome  terminal 
station,  Poppy  was  there  to  meet  it ;  and  with  Poppy 
were  Ellick  Pinckney  and  Acey  Upshaw. 

Poppy,  grim-jawed  and  angry-eyed,  had  bedecked 
in  raiment  of  such  glory  that  it  promised  to  dazzle 


252  POLISHED  EBONY 

her  unwelcome  family  into  immediate  and  complete 
subjection.  Her  hat  was  a  Copenhagen-blue  velvet 
affair  with  a  red  turkey  wing  and  a  vermilion  ro- 
sette. Her  coat  suit  was  a  rich  maroon  serge, 
braided  with  navy.  Her  belt  was  wide  and  shiny 
and  crimson.  Her  waist  was  the  flesh  colour  of 
white  folks.  Her  stockings  were  grey  silk,  em- 
broidered in  white,  and  her  twelve-inch  laced  boots 
were  mouse-coloured.  She  carried  an  ornate  bag 
made  of  brocaded  ribbon  and  a  jangling  vanity  set 
of  silver  plate. 

Nor  were  her  cavaliers  lacking  in  sartorial  ele- 
gance. They  stood  nervously  beside  her,  wary  of 
her  captious  mood:  Ellick,  rangy  and  powerful; 
Acey,  short,  slender,  and,  in  the  matter  of  com- 
plexion, the  least  African  of  the  trio.  The  men 
wore  pearl  grey  hats,  spats  to  match  and  carried 
suede  gloves  and  polished  canes. 

The  passengers  streamed  through  the  under- 
ground passage  and  up  the  wide  concrete  stairway 
to  the  exit  gates.  Poppy  watched  with  anxious, 
staring  eyes.  Acey  saw  them  first  and  discreetly 
fought  back  a  chuckle.  "  Heah  they  comes,"  he 
announced  positively. 

Lithia  Blevins  led  the  way  and  the  combination 
of  a  long  and  tiresome  day-coach  journey  and  poor 
electric  lights  didn't  give  Lithia  any  the  best  of 
the  deal.  She  was  about  the  height  and  general 
dimensions  of  her  sister  and  the  contour  of  her 
face  was  pleasing.  But  she  was  more  than  a  little 
haggard  and  worn  and  was  wrestling  earnestly  with 
two  sagging,  battered  suitcases.  Her  costume  was 
absurd  enough  for  a  stage  version  of  the  Yankees' 
idea  of  the  Southern  negro.  Her  hat  was  a  ridicu- 


POPPY  PASSES  253 

lous  ante-bellum,  dun-coloured  affair  made  utterly 
grotesque  by  what  had  once  been  a  feather.  Her 
waist  and  skirt  formed  a  nondescript  combination 
mercifully  concealed  by  a  frayed  coat.  Her  ho- 
siery was  of  cotton  and  her  shoes  enormous  and 
too  fondly  worn. 

The  parents  — -"  Huh !"  diagnosed  Ellick  pri- 
vately, "  they  ain't  nothin'  but  jes'  on'y  niggers !  " 

The  visiting  Blevinses  were  properly  awed  by 
their  daughter's  elegance  and  Lithia  shied  nerv- 
ously from  the  two  resplendent  escorts.  They 
passed  through  the  coloured  waiting-room  and 
emerged  on  Twenty-sixth  street  where,  at  a 
grandiose  signal  from  Acey,  Clarence  Carter 
whirled  his  taxi  to  the  curb  and  they  piled  in. 

The  distraught  Poppy,  terrorized  by  the  cer- 
tainty that  the  realization  was  destined  to  be  even 
worse  than  the  nightmare  of  anticipation,  took 
them  to  her  boarding  establishment  where  she  had 
arranged  to  house  them  during  their  sojourn  so  that 
she  might  have  them  more  completely  under  her 
thumb. 

Once  at  the  house  Lithia  grabbed  a  suitcase,  ex- 
cused herself  and  begged  permission  to  "  wash  up 
a  li'l  bit."  The  Blevins  parents  seated  themselves 
in  dumb  resignation  and  Ellick  and  Acey  stood 
nervously  by  a  window.  Ellick  winked.  "  That 
Lithia  —  she  ain't  spoke  ontil  yet,  is  she?  " 

"  Nope." 

"  An'  the  ol'  folks :  reckon  they  is.  dumb,  too." 

"  They  ain't  never  rode  in  no  autymobile  befo', 
I'm  bettin',"  snapped  Acey.  "  They  ain't  got  no 
call  comin'  to  a  real  city." 

They  turned  their  eyes  toward  the  dazzled  par- 


254  POLISHED  EBONY 

ents:  Mrs.  Blevins  unconscionably  portly  and  su- 
perlatively black ;  Blevins  pere  shrivelled  and  wiz- 
ened and  topped  with  a  nap  of  close,  kinky  hair. 
Into  the  mind  of  both  leaped  the  same  thought: 
these  were  the  persons  from  whom  the  incomparable 
Poppy  was  sprung.  For  the  first  time  they  were 
struck  with  the  idea  that  Poppy  might  be  some- 
thing less  than  divine.  They  were  awakened  to 
the  fact  that  she  might  have  human  faults,  not  the 
least  of  which  was  exaggerated  ego. 

Poppy  slammed  into  the  room,  seized  her  par- 
ents' luggage  and  tossed  it  unceremoniously  into 
their  room.  "  Ain't  you  better  go  tidy  up,  Mom?  " 

"  Hah !  "  Mom's  heavy  jowls  quivered  with  mer- 
riment. "  Reckon  yo'  ol'  Mammy  don'  need  no 
tidyin'  up." 

"  If'n  you  want  to  change  yo'  dress  — " 

"  Whuff o',  Chile?  Reckon  dis  dress  been  good 
enough." 

"  Lemme  take  off  yo'  hat.  I  'clare,  Mom,  you  is 
still  wearin'  yo'  winter  hat." 

"G'wan,  Gal.  I  been  wearin'  dat  hat  fo'  five 
yeahs.  Ain't  nothin'  wrong  wid  dat  hat.  If  dey 
was  it  would  of  done  wore  out  befo'  dis.  Miss  Far- 
rington  what  lives  on  Tradd  street  gimme  dat  hat 
—  an'  her's  quality  folks.  Reckon  I  is  gwine  be 
wearin'  dat  hat  fo'  'nother  five  yeahs." 

She  might  have  rambled  on  indefinitely  but 
Poppy  impatiently  cut  her  short.  She  heckled  her 
mother  and  she  snapped  at  her  father  until  finally 
Mom  Blevins  could  stand  it  no  longer :  "  Lis'en 
heah  at  what  I  is  sayin'  Poppy  Blevins :  yo'd  better 
keep  a  civil  tongue  'tween  dem  lips  o'  yourn  or 
dey's  gwine  be  plen'y  action  'roun'  whar  you  is  at 


POPPY  PASSES  255 

an'  you  sho'  gwine  know  all  bout'n  it.  I  ain't  'low 
no  nigger  gal  to  talk  to  me  like  what  you  is  been 
doin'  ...  an'  ifn  my  own  daughter  tries  it  — 
huh!  'twouldn't  be  de  fust  time  I  tanned  you! " 

Poppy  flounced  from  the  room.  She  wanted  to 
think  things  over.  Obviously  she  had  started  off 
on  the  wrong  tack.  Her  strategy  needed  altera- 
tions. She  sat  moodily  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  — 
and  meanwhile  Lithia  re-entered  the  parlour. 

The  two  men  sat  up  and  gasped  audibly.  Lithia 
had  undergone  a  transformation.  She  was  wearing 
a  clean  gray  skirt  and  a  white  shirtwaist  which 
was  alluringly  open  at  the  throat.  Her  hosiery  was 
cotton  and  her  shoes  brogans  .  .  .  but  somehow  the 
men  forgot  that:  they  wrere  looking  at  the  newly- 
brushed,  crinkly  hair  and  the  —  the  —  Oh ! 
Lithia  was  smiling  .  .  .  that  was  the  keynote  of 
the  transfiguration. 

Lithia  had  a  way  of  smiling :  it  seemed  to  lift  her 
in  a  trice  from  the  commonplace  to  the  ethereal. 
And  with  the  change  of  clothes  she  had  acquired 
an  ease  of  manner  just  sufficiently  tinged  with  mod- 
est diffidence  to  intrigue  Ellick  Pinckney's  inter- 
est. She  was  a  new  and  interesting  type  to  him. 
Too,  she  was  sufficiently  like  Poppy  in  face  and 
figure  immediately  to  pass  as  a  beautiful  woman. 
But  the  beauty  of  her  face  was  different.  There 
was  an  unsophistication,  a  softness,  which  Poppy 
did  not  have. 

She  carried  a  pillow  from  the  sofa  and  placed 
it  behind  her  mother's  head.  "  Feel  comfortumble, 
Mom?" 

Mom  sighed.  "That  shuah  is  good,  Lithia. 
Mebbe  yo'  Pa.  .  .  ." 


256  POLISHED  EBONY 

Pa  glanced  nervously  about  the  room.  "  Kin 
I?" 

"  Shuah,"  laughed  Lithia  encouragingly. 
"  Heah ! "  She  fished  into  his  pocket  and  pro- 
duced a  reeking  corncob  pipe  and  a  sack  of  granu- 
lated tobacco.  She  filled  the  bowl  and  tamped  it 
expertly.  Then  she  held  the  match  and  he  puffed 
contentedly.  Lithia  turned  toward  the  men.  "  Pa 
ain't  hisse'f  without  he  ain't  got  his  pipe,"  she 
explained. 

"I  —  I  bet  you  is  a  good  cook,"  commented  El- 
lick  without  understanding  what  prompted  the  re- 
mark. 

The  girl  laughed  musically.  "  Reckon  I  is  — 
kind  of.  Mos'  Cha'leston  niggers  cooks  good." 

"  Y'ever  work  out  ?  " 

"  Co'se.  I  is  cook  fo'  some  quality  folks  down 
to  de  Batt'ry." 

Ellick  sighed.  "  Poppy  ain't  much  cook.  She's 
mostly  sassiety." 

"Ain't  she  beautiful?" 

"  Kinder  —  like  what  you  is.  An'  they  say  she's 
a  good  nu'se.  But  cook !  Huh !  on'y  think  to  eat 
she  ev'  made  fo'  me  was  some  wonder  san'wiches." 

"  Wonder  san'wiches?  " 

"  Yeh !  "  he  grinned.  "  You  wonder  whar  the 
meat  is  at." 

Lithia  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed  ring- 
ingly.  Ellick  liked  to  hear  her  laughter.  He 
wracked  his  brain  for  something  else  funny.  He 
glanced  around  for  Acey  and  found  that  gentleman 
deep  in  conversation  with  Old  Man  Blevins.  As 
for  himself,  he  didn't  particularly  miss  Poppy. 

"  Ain't  nev'  been  to  no  big  city  befo',  is  you?  " 


POPPY  PASSES  257 

«  Nope." 

"  Reckon  I  is  gwine  half  to  show  you  the  sights. 
This  is  a  pow'ful  fine  town.  How  'bout  gwine  to 
a  movie  with  me  tomorry  night?  " 

Lithia  glanced  apprehensively  toward  Poppy's 
door.  El  lick  intercepted  and  interpreted  the  look. 
"  Tha's  all  right  with  her.  Me'n  Poppy's  sich  close 
frien's  it's  sorter  up  to  me  to  show  her  sister  a 
good  time." 

Lithia  accepted  the  invitation  with  alacrity  and 
when  Poppy  returned  to  the  room  fifteen  minutes 
later  she  found  her  sister  cosily  ensconced  in  the 
corner  with  Ellick  Pinckney.  She  shrugged  with 
regal  indifference  and  attached  Aeey  Upshaw  unto 
herself.  If  her  plan  of  campaign  was  to  inspire 
Ellick  with  jealousy  she  failed  miserably  — 
at  least  insofar  as  outward  appearance  was  con- 
cerned. 

Ellick  and  Acey  departed  at  the  same  time. 
They  walked  together  to  the  corner  because  their 
paths  happened  to  lay  in  the  same  direction  and 
not  because  they  liked  one  another.  But  when 
Acey  would  have  passed  on,  Ellick  stopped  him. 
"Acey!" 

"Yeh?" 

"  Bout'n  that  money  I  owes  you  on  the  shoe 
shop  — " 

"  What  'bout  it?  " 

"  I  needs  a  sixty-day  'stension." 

"  Huh !  Reckon  'stensions  ain't  my  business, 
Mistuh  Pinckney." 

"  But  ifn  I  ain't  got  the  money—?  " 

"  Tha's  yo'  lookout,  Mistuh  Pinckney.  I  is  got 
plen'y  good  security  —  an'  a  contrac'." 


258  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  But  you  is  a'ready  been  paid  mos'  all  what  is 
due." 

"  Mos'  all  ain't  all.  You  is  got  thutty  days  to 
pay  the  rest  of  the  balance  an'  you  take  my  adwice 
an'  do  it.  Tha's  all  what  I  is  got  to  say  bout'n 
it.  Good  night,  Mistuh  Pinckney !  " 

Acey  turned  away  and  Ellick  watched  his  de- 
parting figure  forlornly.  Ellick  was  decidedly  up 
against  it.  It  was  of  course  patent  to  him  why 
the  needed  extension  was  refused.  Sans  business, 
Ellick  would  be  placed  with  the  matrimonial  also- 
rans  and  Acey  left  alone  on  the  eligible  list,  and 
of  the  fact  that  Acey  wanted  Poppy  there  was  no 
doubt  — nor  did  Ellick  blind  himself  to  the  cer- 
tainty that  Poppy  was  the  sinister  motivating  in- 
fluence in  Acey's  detestation  of  him. 

Ellick,  too,  coveted  Poppy  for  better  or  worse; 
he  wras  enthralled  by  her  exotic  radiance  and  had 
aspired  to  her  for  so  long  that  it  had  become  a 
habit.  More,  Acey's  dislike  was  reciprocated  with 
interest  and  therefore  the  winning  of  the  delectable 
Poppy  would  constitute  a  personal  triumph  of  no 
mean  proportions. 

On  the  other  hand  Ellick's  little  shoe  business 
meant  much  to  him.  He  was  an  expert  shoe  re- 
pairer and  had  long  been  ambitious  to  own  his  own 
business.  The  following  morning  he  carried  his 
troubles  to  the  office  of  Lawyer  Evans  Chew  in  the 
Penny  Prudential  Bank  Building,  the  nine-story 
office  structure  which  was  the  pride  spot  of  Dark- 
town's  civic  centre. 

Lawyer  Chew  listened  attentively,  a  portentous 
frown  on  his  face;  long,  slender  fingers  toying 
with  a  writ  of  garnishment  which  lay  on  his  desk. 


POPPY  PASSES  259 

"You  say  yon  is  got  a  contrac',  Brother  Pinck- 
ney?  " 

"Uh-huh!"  Ellick  produced  from  an  inside 
pocket  a  frayed  and  thnmb-marked  document. 
"  Heah  'tis." 

Lawyer  Chew  arranged  horn-rimmed  spectacles 
on  his  nose  and  perused  the  paper  meticulously. 

At  length  he  laid  it  aside  and  cleared  his  throat. 
"  You  —  er  —  a  —  is  in  a  bad  way,  Brother  Pinck- 
ney." 

"Ain't  it  the  truth?" 

"  I  sispec'  this  contrac'  was  drawn  up  by  Lawyer 
Artopee  Gaillard,  wa'n't  it?  " 

"  Sho'  was." 

Lawyer  Chew  tchk'd  commiseratingly.  "  Too 
bad  — too  bad!" 

"Wha's  too  bad?" 

"  This  heah  contrac'.  Ise  afraid  you  is  in  a  bad 
way,  Brother  Pinckney." 

Ellick  passed  a  red  handkerchief  across  a  perspir- 
ing forehead.  "  Lis'en  heah  at  me,  Lawyer  Chew : 
I  ain't  come  to  you  fob  to  heah  I  is  in  bad.  I  come 
to  learn  how  I  c'n  git  out." 

"  Wen  a  'torney  ain't  got  no  more  conscience 
than  what  Lawyer  Gaillard  is  got  — " 

"You  mean  they  ain't  no  way  outen  that  con- 
trac'?" 

"  None  whatever." 

"  But  Lawyer  Gaillard  said  — " 

"  It  don't  make  no  diffe'ence  what  he  said, 
Brother  Pinckney.  In  —  er  —  a  —  contrumversy 
in  which  a  written  instriment  is  concerned  they 
ain't  no  oral  testimony  allowed  to  be  intrumduced 
to  modify  or  explain  that  which  is  wrote,  same  bein' 


260  POLISHED  EBONY 

a  provision  of  the  Statute  of  Frauds  cal'clated  to 
'liminate  to  a  minimum  all  chancst  of  persons  bein' 
particeps  criminis  when  they  is  a  mutual  and  sev- 
e'al  desire  to  break  said  contrac'  as  hereinbefo' 
mentioned." 

Ellick  shook  his  head  dazedly  and  came  up  for 
air.  "  Wen  you  c'lects  a  fee,  Lawyer  Chew,  they 
ain't  no  client  gwine  say  you  ain't  gave  'em  enough 
words." 

"  What  I  mean  is,"  explained  the  counsellor  with 
dignity,  "  that  what  any  one  said  when  this  con- 
trac' was  drawn  don't  make  no  dift'e'ence  whichso- 
ever. What  is  wrote  an'  duly  attested  therein  is 
all  which  you  is  interes'  in,  an'  said  contrac'  which 
I  now  hoi's  in  my  hand  says  that  you  is  in  a  bad 
fix." 

"  But  s'posin'  I  don't  raise  that  las'  payment : 
does  he  git  his  business  back  an'  all  what  I  is  paid 
out  to  boot?  " 

""  Unfortumlately  he  does.  Ordinary  he  woul'n't, 
but  you  is  had  the  wrong  procedure  from  the  staht. 
What  you  should  have  done  was  to  transfer  title 
to  yo'se'f  an'  give  a  mortgage;  'stead  of  wrhich  you 
is  done  contrariwise." 

"  Contrariwise  how?  " 

"  You  signed  that  contrac'  of  yo'  own  free  will 
an'  unblemish'  volition,  Brother  Pinckney;  an' 
thereby  you  is  gwine  half  to  stan'.  The  money 
what  you  is  paid  out  stan's  in  the  light  of  an  option, 
said  option  being  forfeited  autimatically  an'  in  toto 
case'n  all  payments  ain't  fo'thcomin'  on  the  day 
which  they  is  due  on." 

"Oh!  Lawdy  .  .  .  an'  they  ain't  no  way  out?" 

"  No.    Not  onless  fo'  a  c'nsideration  properly 


POPPY  PASSES  261 

wrote  an'  inserted  into  this  heah  document,  Mistuh 
Acey  Upshaw'd  be  willin'  to  exten'  .  .  ." 

"  If'n  Acey  Upshaw  owned  all  the  gasoline  in  the 
world,  Lawyer  Chew,  he  woul'n't  even  give  me  a 
smell." 

"  You  mean  you  an'  him  ain't  friendly?  " 

"  I  an'  him  is  lovin'  the  same  lady,  Lawyer  Chew. 
I  reckon  that  makes  you  on'erstan'  it  somewhat 
better  now,  huh?  " 

Chew  nodded  sagely.  "  It  is  clea'er ;  much 
clea'er.  I  see  it  with  infumately  greater  cla'ity. 
Could  you  borry  this  money  elsewhere?  " 

"  Not  hahdly,  'specially  like  if  what  you  says  the 
title  on  the  shop  ain't  mine.  OF  Semore  Mash  by 
might  lemme  have  it  ordinary,  'scusin'  the  other 
day  w'en  I  was  laughin'  at  him  on  account  what 
'Bias  Nesbit  done  to  him  bout'n  that  di'min'  ring 
of  Elzevir's:  you  know,  him  an'  Cass  Driggers 
bought  a  autymobile  — " 

Chew  grinned  broadly.  "  I've  heard  about  it. 
How  about  Flo'ian  Slappey?  " 

"  He'd  mos'  prob'ly  loant  it  to  me  in  a  minnit, 
but  he  ain't  heah.  He's  went  to  N'Yawleens  fo'  a 
month.  Now,  if'n  you  had  some  extry  cash  — ?  " 

"  I  is  a  lawyer,  not  no  money-lender,  Brother 
Pinckney." 

Ellick  rose  abruptly.  "  You  ain't  so  durn'  much 
of  either.  Wen  I  come  in  heah  to  see  you  I  ain't 
had  much  hope.  Now  I  ain't  got  none! " 

Ellick  was  supremely  gloomy  during  the  bal- 
ance of  the  day.  Business  was  returning  expenses 
and  a  small  profit,  more  than  enough  to  provide 
a  fairly  comfortable  living  for  himself  and  an  eco- 
nomical wife,  but  somehow  he  was  unable  to  get 


262  POLISHED  EBONY 

sufficiently  ahead  of  the  game  to  raise  the  cash  re- 
quired within  thirty  days  by  the  adamantine  Acey 
Upshaw. 

Acey  was  always  a  hard  man  to  deal  with,  but 
never  harder  than  in  this  particular  instance  where 
the  grande  passion  had  entered  the  game.  The 
encumbrance  against  Ellick's  business  was  a  hand- 
ful of  trumps  which  Acey  was  playing  expertly, 
secure  in  the  knowledge  that  nothing  but  cash  and 
plenty  of  it  could  save  Ellick  from  business  dis- 
aster. Nor  was  Acey  particularly  worried  over 
the  fact  that  the  girl  of  his  choice  preferred  the 
rival  —  other  things  being  equal.  He  knew  that 
other  things  were  not  going  to  be  equal,  and  real- 
ized that  with  Ellick  reduced  to  a  job  he  would 
have  a  clear  road  to  her  hand.  And  Acey  desired 
Poppy  as  he  had  coveted  few  other  things  in  his  life. 

He  took  her  to  the  movies  that  night  and  swelled 
with  triumph  when,  in  the  lobby,  he  nearly  collided 
with  Ellick  Pinckney  and  Lithia  Blevins.  The 
contrast  between  the  sisters  was  striking.  Lithia 
looked  pretty  —  no  denying  that  —  but  she  lacked 
the  style,  the  poise,  the  urbanity  of  Poppy. 

Ellick  experienced  a  slight  twinge  of  jealousy  at 
sight  of  Poppy  on  Acey's  arm,  and  was  surprised 
that  the  jealousy  was  not  stronger  and  of  longer 
duration.  Perhaps,  he  thought,  it  was  because  the 
surest  road  to  Poppy's  heart  at  present  was  by  way 
of  taking  the  unwelcome  and  hopelessly  provincial 
sister  off  her  hands.  Perhaps  .  .  .  well,  dawg- 
gone  it !  Lithia  was  Poppy's  sister  and  the  sister 
of  such  a  glorious  creature  as  Poppy  couldn't  help 
being  interesting. 

Across  the  creamy  crests  of  ice-cream  sodas,  the 


POPPY  PASSES  263 

deliriously  happy  Lithia  and  the  surprisingly  con- 
tented Ellick  chatted.  "  You  is  sho'  a  pretty  gal, 
Lithia." 

"  Huh !    Poppy's  the  pretty  one." 

"  Oh !  she's  swell,  of  co'se.  .  .  ." 

"  Poppy  is  change'  considerumble,  Misto'  Pinck- 
ney." 

"  If  n  she  was  ever  like  you,  she  sho'  has." 

"  She  ain't  like  the  Cha'leston  niggers  no  mo* — 
not  a  tall." 

"  You  ain't  got  no  call  castin'  spurchuns  on 
Cha'leston  niggers,  Miss  Lithia.  Not  if' n  you  is 
like  them." 

"  Dey  is  a'right,  I  reckon.  Co'se  dey  ain't  high- 
tone'  like  what  Poppy  an'  her  frien's  is  .  .  ." 

"  High-tone'  ain't  ev'ythin',  Miss  Lithia.  They's 
other  things  which  counts.  Bein'  willin'  to  work 
an'  a  good  cook  an'  not  too-'stravagant  an'  all  like 
that." 

"  Mebbe  you  is  right,  Mistuh  Pinckney  .  .  .  but 
I  an'  Poppy  sho'  is  diffe'ent." 

"Bless  Gawd!" 

"What  you  mean?" 

"  Nothin'—  nothinM  On'y  ifn  they  wa'n't  no 
diffe'ence  in  folks,  Miss  Lithia,  they  woul'n't  be 
much  interestin' —  tha's  all  what  I  means." 

"  Tha's  sho'  the  truth,  Mistuh  Pinckney."  She 
drained  her  glass  and  rose.  "  Ise  got  to  be  goin' 
home." 

He  arched  his  eyebrows.     "Home?    A'ready?" 

"  Yeh  —  y'see,  sencst  his  accident  Pa  ain't  much 
able  to  do  things  fo'  hisse'f  an'  Mom,  she's  so  fat, 
he  don'  like  her  foolin'  'roun'  him,  so  I  sort  of  looks 
after  him." 


264  POLISHED  EBONY 

"Ain't  that  a  heap  of  trouble?  " 

"  Trouble  ain't  no  wuss'n  what  you  thinks  it  is, 
Mistuh  Pinckney.  It's  thinkin'  makes  it  hahd." 

Lithia  was  prominent  in  Ellick's  dreams  that 
night.  And  the  following  evening  when  Acey 
Upshaw  —  at  Poppy's  suggestion  —  took  Lithia  un- 
der his  wing,  leaving  Ellick  to  the  more  resplendent 
sister,  Ellick  discovered  to  his  surprise  that  he 
was  discontented.  And  as,  on  alternate  nights, 
he  escorted  Lithia  to  movies  and  dances  and  muni- 
cipal band  concerts,  he  became  more  than  ever 
impressed  with  the  striking  variation  in  type  which 
may  exist  in  a  single  family. 

In  brief,  Ellick  discovered  that  he  was  not  only 
liking  Lithia  more,  but  Poppy  less.  Lithia  was 
broad  figuratively  as  well  as  literally  and  she  had 
a  fine,  noble  conception  of  the  husband's  position 
in  the  domestic  realm.  She  realized,  for  instance, 
that  the  wife  should  work  and  contribute  her  earn- 
ings to  the  general  fund ;  that  no  matter  how  afflu- 
ent the  husband,  the  wife  had  no  right  to  squander 
his  money  for  worthless  clothes  and  fancy  fol-de- 
rol.  She  believed  that  a  wife  was  created  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  ministering  ceaselessly  to  the  crea- 
ture comforts  of  her  chosen  man  .  .  .  and  into 
Ellick's  mind  there  seeped  the  idea  that  it  was 
Lithia  and  not  Poppy  in  whose  arms  he  could  find 
contentment. 

He  longed  to  go  to  Acey  and  relieve  that  gentle- 
man of  the  alternate  evenings  which  Poppy  forced 
him  to  spend  with  Lithia.  But  he  didn't  do  it  — 
and  Ellick's  evenings  with  Poppy  became  things 
of  torture  to  him;  first  because  he  had  plumbed 
the  depths  of  Poppy's  selfish  nature  and  secondly 


POPPY  PASSES  265 

because  he  writhed  with  consuming  jealousy  at 
every  thought  of  Acey's  bland,  smiling  face  close 
to  that  of  the  adored  Lithia  —  and  he  was  afraid 
that  his  request  might  result  in  open  hostilities  in 
case  Acey  exhibited  a  disinclination  to  agree. 

"  I  ain't  min'  takin'  Lithia  out  mo'  evenin's,"  he 
informed  Poppy  one  evening.  She  flashed  him  a 
sharply  suspicious  glance. 

"Reckon  you  don't.  Not  by  the  way  you  ac's, 
anyways." 

"Now,  Poppy  —  you  is  the  'sinuatinest  woman. 
They  ain't  nothin'  atween  I  an'  Lithia.  On'y  I 
kind  of  thought  mebbe  yo'd  rather  be  with  Acey 
Upshaw." 

"  Huh !  I  ain't  sayin'  I  would  an'  I  ain't  saying 
I  wouTh't.  But  I'll  say  this  much  fo'  Acey  —  he 
ain't  fickle  like  what  you  is.  Acey  would  ruther 
be  with  me  than  with  Lithia.  She's  ignorumt 
an'—" 

"  I  reckon  you  is  gwine  say  Acey  is  smaht  enough 
to  see  that  an'  I  ain't,  huh?"  he  said  testily. 

"  You  is  at  libbity  to  take  what  I  says  any  way 
you  likes,  Mistuh  Pinckney.  This  heah  is  a  free 
country.  You  an'  Acey  is  diffe'ent  kin's  of  men. 
He  ain't  havin'  his  haid  tu'ned  jes'  cause'n  a  gal 
looks  at  him  sof  an'  tender.  Lithia  is  went  to  you' 
haid,  Mistuh  Pinckney  — " 

"  I  ain't  kickin'  at  you  goin'  with  Acey  Upshaw, 
is  I?  " 

"  'TwouFn't  do  you  no  good  if'n  you  did." 

"  Reckon  you'lfbe  sayin'  nex'  you  is  gwine  marry 
him." 

"  I  ain't  sayin'  I  ain't." 

Ellick  felt  that  he  should  be  broken  hearted. 


266  POLISHED  EBONY 

But  instead  he  was  surprised  by  the  feeling  of  re- 
lief which  surged  over  him.  "  You  always  has 
loved  Acey  more'n  you  has  me." 

"  I  ain't  got  no  respec'  fo'  a  man  which  is  done 
what  you  is  done." 

"Meanin'  which?" 

"  Went  an'  forsook  me  fo'  a  country  nigger  like 
Liiliia  jes'  cause'n  she  makes  cow-eyes  at  you." 

"  Tha's  yo'  own  bohn  sister  what  you  is  stra- 
doosin',  Poppy." 

"  If'n  I  cain't  talk  against  my  own  sister,  who 
c'n  I  talk  against?  I  asts  you  that,  Mistuh  Pinck- 
ney.  What  I  was  gwine  say  is  that  Acey  ain't 
never  lost  his  haid." 

"Acey  ain't  got  so  much  haid  to  lose,"  retorted 
Ellick  angrily.  "  An'  furthermo'  an'  also  if'n  you 
p'efers  Acey  to  me  I  reckon  I  ain't  gwine  raise  no 
howl." 

"  I  does  p'efer  him !  "  she  flashed.  "  An'  if'n  yo'd 
ruther  be  with  Lithia.  .  .  ." 

He  rose  slowly.     "  Reckon  I  would." 

"  Ise  gwine  marry  Acey  —  so  there !  " 

"  Reckon  I  ain't  cryin'  over  that,  Poppy  Blevins. 
Lithia's  the  kin'  of  wife  I  wants." 

"  You  go  an'  git  her,  then,"  raged  Poppy.  "  Go 
on  an'  git  her  —  you  no-'count,  fickle,  wuthless  nig- 
ger, you!  What  you  think  I  cares  bout'n  a  man 
like  what  you  is,  anyways,  when  I  c'n  git  one  like 
Acey  Upshaw?  You  an'  Lithia  is  two  of  a  kin' — 
y'orter  be  raisin'  cotton  on  a  plantation  'stead  of 
livin'  in  a  city.  They  ain't  enough  sperrit  in  the 
two  of  you  to  run  a  kerosene  lamp.  Ise  wishin' 
you  good  day,  Mistuh  Pinckney  —  an'  w'en  you 


POPPY  PASSES  267 

sees  Acey  jes'  tell  him  Ise  waitin'  fo'  him:  that's 
all  —  jes'  tell  him  I  wants  him." 

Ellick  Pinckney  made  his  exit  with  as  great  dig- 
nity as  was  possible  under  the  circumstances. 
Once  outside,  he  threw  back  his  shoulders  and  in- 
haled a  great  breath  of  relief. 

For  the  first  time  in  three  weeks,  Ellick  Pinck- 
ney was  happy.  For  the  moment  he  almost  forgot 
the  imminent  fall  of  the  Damoclean  sword  which 
hung  suspended  over  his  little  shoe  shop. 

He  had  admitted  for  many  days  that  Lithia 
Blevins  was  the  woman  with  whom  he  wished  to 
share  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  the  balance  of  his 
life  .  .  .  but  thought  of  Poppy  had  terrified  him. 
Poppy,  he  fancied,  was  in  love  with  him  and  would, 
perhaps,  insist  on  marrying  him  whether  or  no. 
He  now  felt  that  he  was  free. 

The  sensation  was  exquisite.  He  had  effected  a 
miraculous  escape  from  a  life  of  servitude  to  a 
shallow,  selfish,  vain  woman. 

There  was  also  more  than  a  little  satisfaction  in 
Poppy's  genuine  anger  for  by  it  Poppy  had  shown 
plainly  that  she  did  care  for  him!  Acey  was  a 
good  enough  second  choice  .  .  .  but  he  smiled  sar- 
donically as  he  recalled  her  bitter  request :  "  Wen 
you  see  Acey  tell  him  I  wants  him !  "  Grandstand 
stuff.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  Ellick  Pinckney  stopped  short.  His 
lower  jaw  slowly  sagged.  His  eyes  opened  wide. 
His  lips  expanded  into  a  grin  and  a  chuckle  issued 
from  between  his  lips.  And  finally  he  slapped  one 
broad  palm  resoundingly  against  his  thigh. 

"Dawg-gone!"    he    chortled.     "Ise    bettin'    fo' 


268  POLISHED  EBONY 

bits  'gainst  a  hole  in  a  pair  of  shoes  it'll  work! 
Ding-bust.  .  .  ." 

The  idea  was  inspirational  and  splendidly  log- 
ical. Ellick  strode  down  the  street  with  shoul- 
ders swinging  triumphantly  and  an  interminable 
chuckle  agitating  his  cheeks. 

The  more  he  thought  it  over  the  funnier  it  was 
and  the  more  certain  of  success.  There  wasn't  a 
flaw  in  the  scheme.  Acey  wanted  Poppy,  did  he? 
And  Poppy  —  spurned  by  Ellick  —  desired  Acey? 
And  Ellick  needed  Acey's  good  will?  The  circum- 
stances dovetailed  into  a  perfect  whole. 

Acey  Upshaw  rose  hurriedly  as  his  dark  and  par- 
ticular aversion  breezed  into  the  office  and  slammed 
the  door.  "What  you  want?"  demanded  Acey 
curtly. 

Ellick  forcibly  banished  from  his  face  all  sem- 
blance of  happiness  and  in  its  stead  summoned  a 
visible  lugubriosity  which  had  more  or  less  effect 
on  the  man  opposite.  Then  Ellick  sighed.  He  was 
an  artist  at  sighing,  was  Ellick.  "  Acey,"  he 
opened,  "  me'n  you  ain't  been  lovin'  one  'nother 
much  lately,  is  we?  " 

"  No,"  shortly,  "  we  ain't." 

"  We  useter  be  good  frien's,  Acey." 

"  Useter  ain't  is." 

"  Frien'ship  is  the  Lawd's  noblestes'  gif  to  man 
—  Rev'end  Arlandas  Sipsey  say  that  in  Chu'ch  yes- 
tiddy." 

"  I  don'  'ten'  his  Chu'ch." 

"  Now,  Acey.  .  .  .  Anyways,  I  been  thinkin'  what 
a  shame  'tis  we  is  done  discontinued  from  bein' 
frien's  like  what  we  useter  be." 


POPPY  PASSES  269 

Aeey  was  vaguely  impressed  —  but  suspicious. 
"What  all  this  mean,  Ellick?" 

"  It  means,"  sighed  Ellick,  "  that  I  is  done  saw 
the  error  of  my  ways,  Acey,  an'  I  is  came  to  you 
with  the  ban'  of  frien'ship  outstretch'  in  forgive- 
ness. I  is  came,  Acey,  cause'n  we  is  'lowed  a 
woman  to  bust  in  between  us  — " 

Acey  stiffened.  "  I  ain't  'scussin'  wimmin  with 
you,  Ellick  Pinekney." 

"  Lis'en  heah  to  what  I  is  sayin',  Acey ;  you  an' 
me  is  been  lovin'  the  same  gal,  ain't  we?  " 

"  Yeh." 

"  An'  us  both  jes'  wants  to  see  her  real  happy, 
don't  we?  " 

"  Tendin'  on  which  — " 

"  'Pendin'  on  nothin',  Acey  Upshaw.  I  says  to 
myse'f,  I  says  —  if  n  I  loves  a  lady  I  wants  to  see 
her  happy  an'  if  n  she  c'n  be  happier  with  you  than 
what  she  c'n  with  me  —  why,  I  reckon  I  woul'n't 
be  much  man  ifn  I  ain't  tell  you:  ain't  it  the 
truth?  " 

Acey  gasped.  He  was  beginning  to  get  the  drift 
of  Ellick's  conversation  and  was  astounded  by  the 
display  of  magnanimity.  "  You  —  you  is  been 
talkin'  to  her?  " 

"  Yeh,"  sadly.  "  I  lef  her  no  mo'n  fifteen  min- 
utes ago." 

"  Why  you  is  come  to  me?  " 

"  Acey  Upshaw  —  that  they  gal  don'  no  mo'  love 
me  than  she  loves  Semore  Mash  by.  The  man  what 
she  is  lovin',  Acey  Upshaw  —  is  you!  It's  done 
busted  my  hea't  to  tell  you  this,  Acey  —  but  we  use- 
ter  been  Men's  an',  like  what  I  done  said,  ifn  it'll 


270  POLISHED  EBONY 

make  her  happier  to  be  yo'  wife  I  guess  Ise  man 
enough  to  let  you  know  that  she  is  waitin'  to  home 
fo'  you  to  come  an'  ast  her  will  she  marry  you." 

Acey's  head  wobbled.  He  braced  himself  more 
firmly  that  this  epochal  display  of  altruism  and 
self-sacrifice  might  not  fell  him.  "  You  —  you  is 
comin'  heah  to  tell  me  —  she  loves  me  —  an'  I  is 
to  marry  her?  " 

"Uh-huh!" 

"  You  is  sho'—  sho'  bout'n  that,  Ellick?  " 

"  Ain't  she  done  tol'  it  to  me  less'n  fifteen  min- 
utes ago?  " 

"  Geeemanety !  "  Acey's  hand  shot  out.  "  What 
you  is  said  bout'n  f  rien'ship  sho'  is  the  truth,  Ellick 
Pinckney.  It's  the  noblestes'  thing  what  man  is 
got  an'  Ise  proud  we  is  frien's  again." 

"  Bless  Gawd !  "  intoned  Ellick  fervently  as  their 
hands  met  and  clasped. 

"Amen!" 

"  Jes'  like  ol'  times,  ain't  it,  Acey?  " 

"You  is  a  noble  frien',  Ellick  Pinckney^  An' 
I  is  mean  an'  small.  I  is  shame'  of  myse'f  w'en  I 
thinks  of  how  I  was  gwine  squeeze  you  outen  that 
shoe  business — " 

"Don'  you  worry  bout'n  that,  Acey.  Even  if 
you  takes  my  shop  away  from  me  like  what  you  is 
got  a  legal  right  to  do,  I  ain't  gwine  raise  no  howl. 
*  If'n  yo'  brother  paste  you  on  one  cheek,  give  'im 
a  shot  at  'tother.'  Tha's  my  motter  where  my 
frien's  is  concerned  at,  Acey." 

Acey  brushed  one  hand  across  his  eyes  and  seated 
himself  at  the  desk.  For  a  minute  he  wrote  busily 
and  then  extended  a  paper  to  his  friend.  "  I  is 
learn'  my  lesson,  Ellick.  They  is  a  'stension  on  the 


POPPY  PASSES  271 

business  fo'  ninety  days  marked  fo'  val'able  con- 
sidumration.  'Tain't  gwine  be  writ  in  the  Heav- 
umly  book  that  Acey  Upshaw  wa'n't  man  enough  to 
meet  a  frien'  halfway." 

"  You  is  a  good  man,  Acey.  An',"  glumly,  "  they 
is  yo'  hat.  Go  an'  make  that  gal  happy,  Acey. 
Make  her  happy,  an'  my  blessin's  go  with  you." 

Acey  departed  swiftly  and  Ellick  followed  him 
to  the  street  with  his  lips  parted  in  an  unholy 
smile  of  triumph.  He  almost  convinced  himself 
that  he  had  done  a  noble  and  generous  act.  And 
it  had  worked —  Ye  Gods!  but  it  had  worked! 
He  was  rid  of  Poppy,  repossessed  of  Acey's  inval- 
uable friendship,  held  a  ninety-day  extension  on  the 
business  and  —  last  and  most  important  —  had 
cleared  for  himself  a  path  to  the  hand  of  the  divine 
Lithia  with  its  promise  of  matrimonial  bliss. 

Ellick  walked  slowly  down  the  street  toward  the 
house  where  the  Blevinses  boarded.  He  was  feel- 
ing very,  very  much  at  peace  with  himself  and  the 
world.  He  was  positive  that  by  this  time  Lithia 
would  be  at  home.  .  .  . 

He  turned  in  at  the  gate  which  hung  limply 
on  a  broken  hinge.  The  door,  opening  from  the 
tiny  veranda  into  the  living-room,  was  ajar.  El- 
lick tiptoed  across  the  porch  and  pushed  the  door 
gently.  He  entered  the  room. 

Then  he  started  back.  For  the  room  was  already 
occupied.  It  was  occupied  by  a  man  and  a  woman 
and  the  woman  was  tightly  clasped  in  the  arms  of 
the  man. 

The  man  was  Acey  Upshaw ! 

The  woman  was  Lithia! " 

And  Acey  joyfully  welcomed  the  unfortunately 


272  POLISHED  EBONY 

successful  matchmaker,  who  gazed  in  pop-eyed 
horror  at  the  illuminating  tableau.  "  It's  fitten  you 
should  be  the  fust  to  congratumlate  us,  Ellick,"  he 
said,  "  because  they  never  was  no  nobler  deed  than 
what  you  done  in  sendin'  me  to  Lithia  w'en  I 
knowed  you  was  lovin'  her  yo'se'f." 

"  You  —  you  mean  —  you  an'  Lithia  is  engage'  ?  " 

"  It  was  you  done  it,  Ellick.     If  n  you  hadn't  of 

toP  me  'bout  her  bein'  in  love  with  me  I  never  would 

of  had  the  nerve  to  prepose.     Ain't  you  gwine  be 

happy  with  us,  Ellick?  " 

Ellick  nodded  slowly,  vainly  striving  to  recon- 
struct a  shattered  cosmic  scheme.  "  Yeh !  Ise 
happy  .  .  .  on'y,  My  Gosh!  Acey  —  you  sho'  does 
work  fast ! " 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION 

THE  patient  was  exquisitely  miserable.  He 
lay  tensely  in  the  chair,  popping  eyes  fo- 
cussed  on  the  plump  hand  of  Miss  Corena 
Clemmins,  trained  nurse.  Miss  Clemmins'  fingers 
were  wrapped  competently  around  a  pair  of  shiny 
cow-horn  forceps  recently  rescued  from  the  steamy 
depths  of  the  sterilizer.  She  stood  by  in  efficient 
silence,  waving  the  forceps  gently  and  profession- 
ally deaf  to  the  gurgling  protests  of  the  prospective 
victim. 

Dr.  Brutus  Herring,  Dentist,  glanced  in  a  brief 
and  satisfied  manner  toward  his  trained  assistant; 
tested  his  hypodermic  and  slowly  sucked  into  its  in- 
nards the  local  anesthetic  which  he  was  about  to 
inject.  Then  he  turned  calmly  toward  the  patient. 

"  Open  yo'  mouth,  Brother  De  Lee." 

"  Wh-what  you  gwrine  do?  " 

"  Jes'  on'y  a  little  nerve  blockin'.  One  jab  an' 
it's  all  over." 

"  With  me?  " 

Dr.  Brutus  Herring  nodded  to  the  nurse,  who 
placed  a  strong,  capable  hand  on  the  patient's 
forehead  and  forced  him  back  against  the  head- 
rest. The  dentist  inserted  his  needle  and  jabbed. 
Mr.  De  Lee  promptly  responded  with  a  wiggle  of 
agony  and  a  long-drawn  whooshy  howl.  Then  he 
relaxed.  "  That  don'  hu't  no  mo',"  he  admitted. 

Dr.  Herring  stepped  back.     "  Co'se  not.    Ain't 

275 


276  POLISHED  EBONY 

I  done  said  it  wa'n't  gwine  hu't  on'y  fo'  a  secon'? 
Now  we'll  wait  ontil  it  gits  'nesthetized  tho'ough." 

Two  minutes  later  he  relieved  Miss  Clemmins  of 
the  forceps  and  turned  again  toward  the  chair. 
Cold  beads  of  perspiration  stood  out  on  the  choco- 
late forehead  of  Mr.  De  Lee.  "  D-Doc,  you  shuah 
it  ain't  gwine  hu't?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  —  not  a  bit.     Open  yo'  mouth." 

The  mouth  opened  slowly  —  reluctantly.  Then 
it  closed  again  and  the  man  in  the  chair  sighed  with 
prayerful  relief.  "  Doc,  they  is  some  one  rappin' 
at  yo'  do'." 

The  knocking  sounded  again :  an  insistent,  nerv- 
ous tattoo.  Miss  Clemmins  crossed  the  room  and 
the  door  swung  open. 

The  man  who  stood  in  the  doorway  teetering  on 
the  balls  of  enormous  feet  was  very  short,  very  thin 
and  unbelievably  black.  Small  as  he  was,  his 
clothes  fitted  him  a  trifle  soon.  He  wore  large, 
gold-rimmed  spectacles  and  a  portentous  frown. 
His  voice,  startling  in  its  volume,  boomed  across 
the  room. 

"  Mawnin' —  mawnin'.  Busy,  Dr.  Herrin' — 
busy?" 

The  dentist  nodded.  "  Mawnin',  Dr.  Atcherson. 
Yes,  I  is  ve'y  busy." 

"Doin'  what?  — what?" 

"  I  is  about  to  puffo'm  a  extordonta." 

Dr.  Elijah  Atcherson,  M.D.,  snorted.  "Huh! 
Nothin'  on'y  a  tooth-pullin'.  Nothin'  tall  but  that. 
Guess  you  don'  require  Miss  Clemmins'  service  fo' 
such  as  that." 

Dr.  Herring  stiffened  to  the  full  of  his  six  mag- 
nificent feet  of  light-brown  manhood.  "  Reckon 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  277 

I  is  the  bes'  judge  of  that,  Dr.  Atcherson,  an'  I 
judges  I  needs  her." 

"  Simple  little  thing  like—" 

"  If  n  you  was  a  dentis',  Dr.  Atcherson,  yo'd 
mebbe  know  that  a  extordonta  is  a  se'ious  opera- 
tion. I  needs  Miss  Clemmins  an'  I  is  gwine  have 
her/' 

"Fumadiddles!"  bellowed  the  little  man. 
"  What  you  need  her  fo'?  " 

"  S'posin',"  clinched  Herring,  "  s'posin'  my  pa- 
tient should  get  a  fractured  jaw  —  what  then?" 

"  Yo'd  call  in  a  M.D.—  tha's  what." 

Mr.  De  Lee  sat  up  very  straight  in  the  chair,  a 
light  of  inquiring  horror  in  his  eyes.  "  Oh !  my 
Gawd!  Doc.  .  .  ." 

"  Lay  back  down,  Brother  De  Lee.  I  ain't  gwine 
hu't  you  —  but  I  hires  a  perfessional  nu'se  to  in- 
suah  my  patients  the  bes'  intention  what  is  pos- 
sible case'n  things  goes  wrong."  He  turned  huf- 
fily toward  the  little  man  in  the  doorway.  "  I  is 
got  to  ast  you  to  escuse  me,  Dr.  Atcherson.  I  ain't 
holdin'  no  clinic." 

"  But  I  need  Miss  Clemmins  —  now.  I  is  got  a 
coinpoun'  fracture  case  out  near  Potterville, 
an'—" 

"  I  employs  Miss  Clemmins  much  as  you  does, 
Dr.  Atcherson.  Wen  I  completes  with  her  se'v- 
ices  you  c'n  have  her,  an'  not  befo'." 

Dr.  Elijah  Atcherson  banged  the  ground-glass 
door  and  puffed  into  his  own  handsomely  furnished 
office.  He  slapped  himself  down  in  a  swivel  chair, 
cocked  his  big  feet  on  the  desk,  lighted  a  panatela 
and  puffed  great  clouds  of  smoke  into  the  room. 

From  this  point  of  vantage  Dr.  Atcherson  gazed 


278  POLISHED  EBONY 

through  the  open  door  of  his  office  into  the  large 
ice-cream  parlour  on  which  the  suite  of  offices  occu- 
pied by  himself  and  Dr.  Herring  abutted.  Behind 
the  marble-topped  fountain  a  tall,  slender,  yellow 
negro  concocted  fizzy  drinks  with  an  expert  hand 
and  two  energetic  little  coloured  boys  scurried 
from  crowded  table  to  crowded  table  waiting  on 
the  press  of  coloured  humanity  which  sought  solace 
from  the  sweltering  heat  of  the  July  day  in  the 
delectable,  cool  specialties  obtainable  only  in  The 
Gold  Crown  Ice  Cream  Parlour. 

Visible  evidence  of  the  prosperity  of  The  Gold 
Crown,  which  was  owned  jointly  by  Dr.  Atcherson, 
Dr.  Herring  and  March  Clisby,  the  tall  soda  dis- 
penser, was  too  much  for  the  ebony  physician.  He 
bounced  his  skinny,  wizened  figure  from  the  chair, 
shoved  his  hands  into  trousers  pockets  and  strolled 
magnificently  forth  to  inspect  the  cash  register. 
March  Clisby  greeted  him  with  a  genial  grin: 
"  The  Ol'  Gol'  Crown  been  cashin'  in  th'ough  the 
hot  spell,  Doc." 

"  That  so?  That  so?  "  The  huge  voice  rumbled 
through  the  store  and  customers  looked  up  hastily 
to  seek  its  source.  Many  bowed  to  the  great  physi- 
cian, but  he  condescended  to  return  only  a  few 
of  the  obeisances  —  and  those  thus  noticed  swelled 
with  pardonable  pride.  Dr.  Elijah  Atcherson, 
leading  coloured  surgeon  of  the  state,  was  the  ac- 
knowledged bell-wether  of  the  city's  Afro- American 
flock. 

A  large,  throaty  yell,  emanating  from  the  office 
of  Dr.  Brutus  Herring,  split  the  buzz  of  conversa- 
tion in  the  Gold  Crown.  Dr.  Atcherson  shrugged 
and  minced  back  toward  his  office  for  hat  and  Bos- 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  279 

ton-bag.  "Call  it  tooth-pullin'  or  call  it  extor- 
donta,"  he  philosophized,  "  Ise  bettin'  they  ain't  no 
diffe'ence  in  the  way  it  hu'ts." 

The  door  of  the  dentist's  office  swung  back  and 
Mr.  De  Lee,  sadly  the  worse  for  wear,  staggered 
weakly  into  the  hall  and  out  through  the  side  door. 
Behind  him  came  the  cool,  competent  Corena  Clem- 
mins.  She  presented  herself  before  Dr.  Atcherson. 
"  You  want  me  to  go  with  you  into  the  country, 
Doctor?  " 

"  No,"  roared  the  great  man  testily.  "  I  was  jes' 
aimin'  to  take  you  joy-ridin'.  Tha's  all.  Get  yo' 
hat  an'  get  it  quick !  " 

Miss  Clemmins  got  it.  Five  minutes  later  she 
seated  herself  beside  him  in  the  high-powered,  ex- 
pensive roadster.  He  let  in  his  gears  and  they 
rolled  away  into  the  heat. 

The  city  sweltered  in  the  merciless  blaze  of  a 
midsummer  sun.  It  was  such  a  July  day  as  can 
only  come  in  the  South  after  a  cool,  pleasant  June. 
The  heat  waves  danced  crazily  above  the  steaming 
road;  the  sidewalks  received  the  rays  of  the  sun, 
intensified  them,  and  radiated  them  back  into  the 
heat  saturated  atmosphere.  The  big  office  build- 
ings, rising  high  in  the  air,  were  peopled  at  every 
window  by  clerks  seeking  the  zephyrs  which  were 
that  day  non-existent. 

Corena  Clemmins  relaxed  in  the  luxurious  up- 
holstery and  closed  her  eyes.  It  was  an  immense 
relief  after  the  strain  of  maintaining  a  semblance 
of  neatness  in  the  stuffy  offices.  Unconsciously 
her  body  inclined  toward  the  skinny  little  doctor. 
The  heat  —  the  arduous  labours  of  the  past  few 
hours  —  the  exhaustion  begotten  at  a  barbecue  the 


280  POLISHED  EBONY 

previous  night  —  the  natural  drowsiness  of  the 
day:  they  conspired  diabolically  and  Miss  Corena 
Clemmins  dozed.  And,  dozing,  she  slid  closer  to 
the  doctor  and  her  head  rested  lightly  on  his  right 
shoulder ;  lightly  enough  to  fail  to  disturb  his  pre- 
occupation. 

And  with  that  tableau  in  the  car  they  passed  a 
slow-moving,  city-bound  trolley.  On  the  street  car 
was  an  exceedingly  ample,  flamboyantly  dressed 
lady  of  colour  who  saw  the  automobile.  More,  she 
glimpsed  the  contented  smile  which  played  about 
the  lips  of  the  doctor  and  the  blissful  expression 
of  the  nurse.  She  did  not  know  that  at  the  mo- 
ment the  doctor  was  exultingly  rehearsing  a  re- 
cent and  eminently  successful  operation  for  rup- 
tured appendix  nor  that  the  nurse  was  asleep.  She 
saw  only  the  beatitude  of  the  couple.  She  cared 
to  see  nothing  else.  The  fire  of  a  vast  and  righteous 
wrath  flamed  in  her  eyes. 

The  Amazonian  creature  was  Mrs.  Dr.  Elijah 
Atcherson ! 

For  seventeen  miles  Dr.  Elijah  Atcherson  headed 
into  the  country.  He  passed  through  two  or  three 
scattered  suburbs  resplendent  with  cosy  bungalows 
nestling  behind  green,  velvety  lawns.  Children 
romped  about  in  defiance  to  the  humidity.  Even 
the  stately  pines  seemed  to  have  wilted  before  the 
vicious  attacks  of  the  sun,  and  only  a  few  grey 
clouds  hovering  over  the  crest  of  Red  Mountain  to 
the  south  gave  any  faint  promise  of  relief. 

The  doctor  and  nurse  reached  the  home  of  their 
patient,  a  drab,  unpainted,  ramshackle  cabin 
perched  precariously  on  the  side  of  a  steep,  rocky 
hill.  The  unfortunate,  a  little  negro  boy  twelve 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  281 

years  of  age,  screamed  with  terror  at  sight  of  his 
visitors  and  the  doctor  forced  his  distracted  par- 
ents from  the  room.  Then  he  seated  himself  be- 
side the  bed  and  conversed  quietly  with  the  pain- 
wracked  youngster.  The  rumble  remained  in  his 
big  voice  but  the  quick  querulousiiess  was  gone. 

At  length  the  compound  fracture  was  set,  the  arm 
in  splints  and  the  boy  smiling  brightly.  In  his 
palm  was  a  bright,  new  half  dollar  —  gift  of  Dr. 
Atcherson.  The  man  of  medicine  and  his  nurse 
stepped  onto  the  tiny  veranda  and  just  as  they  did 
so  a  clap  of  thunder  reverberated  across  the  valley. 

A  pale  grey  haze  had  come  over  the  sun.  The 
fleecy  grey  clouds  had  blackened  ominously.  A 
jagged  lightning  flash  punctured  the  grey  pall  and 
Corena  Clemmins  instinctively  sidled  closer  to  the 
doctor.  That  individual  shrugged  philosophically, 
put  up  his  curtains,  roared  instructions  to  the 
grateful  parents  and  signalled  Miss  Clemmins  to  a 
place  at  his  side. 

They  had  gone  little  more  than  two  miles  down 
the  valley  when  the  storm  broke  with  a  fanfare  of 
heavy  thunder  and  blinding  lightning.  Then  the 
heavens  opened  and  the  rain  came  down  —  heavy, 
swishing  sheets  which  transformed  the  red  clay 
road  into  a  sea  of  slimy  mud  and  battered  in 
through  the  slit  between  the  two  halves  of  the 
windshield.  The  car  skidded  dangerously  from  one 
side  of  the  road  to  the  other.  One  curtain  ripped 
loose  with  a  noise  like  the  cracking  of  a  blacksnake 
whip  and  the  torrent  poured  in,  drenching  the 
nurse  to  the  skin. 

Dr.  Atcherson  handled  his  car  in  grim-jawed  si- 
lence. Then  without  a  word,  he  swung  in  from  the 


282  POLISHED  EBONY 

road  and  braked  down  in  the  lee  of  a  little  cabin. 
He  alighted  and  knocked.  There  was  no  response. 
He  tried  the  door,  it  yielded  to  his  touch  and  he 
entered.  The  cabin  was  deserted.  He  beckoned  to 
the  nurse  and  she  joined  him. 

"  They  ain't  no  use  tryin'  to  git  home  in  this," 
he  commented  loudly. 

She  shook  her  head.     "  We'd  git  bogged  shuah." 

One  hour  passed:  two  —  three.  Heavy  dusk 
settled  swiftly  into  black  night.  At  six  o'clock 
Dr.  Atcherson  took  his  place  at  the  wheel,  started 
his  motor  and  tried  to  move  the  car.  But  the  ma- 
chine had  other  ideas  regarding  the  propriety  of 
driving  under  such  adverse  conditions.  It  refused 
to  budge.  The  motor  roared  and  the  rear  wheels 
whirred  angrily  as  they  kicked  up  a  stream  of  red 
clay.  The  doctor  alighted  and  rejoined  Corena 
Clemmins. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  rain  stopped  as  suddenly  as 
it  had  started.  The  clouds  scudded  from  the  face 
of  a  brilliant  full  moon  and  the  skies  became  pep- 
pered with  bright,  twinkling  stars.  By  nine  o'clock 
the  doctor  had  put  on  his  chains  and  extracted  the 
car.  But  the  going  toward  town  was  slow  and 
heavy.  At  half  past  ten  they  pulled  up  before  the 
Gold  Crown  Ice  Cream  Parlour. 

The  Gold  Crown  was  ablaze  with  light.  The 
crowd  within  was  dense  and  extra  help  had  been 
impressed  to  wait  upon  the  voracious  patrons.  The 
bedraggled  doctor  and  nurse  crossed  the  sidewalk. 
Then,  with  his  hand  on  the  screen  door  the  doctor 
paused  suddenly  and  would  have  turned  away. 
But  he  was  too  late. 

His  wife  had  seen  him ! 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  283 

She  swept  grandiosely  toward  the  door  from  the 
rear  of  the  Gold  Crown,  rendolent  of  cheap  perfume, 
a- jangle  with  ornaments,  and  with  an  expression 
of  uncompromising  venom  on  her  heavy,  black  fea- 
tures. 

"  Lustisha  looks  like  trouble  an'  heaps  of  it," 
soliloquized  the  doctor  weakly. 

The  crowd  was  willing  to  scent  good  sport. 
There  was  a  sudden  cessation  of  chatter  and  a  gen- 
eral craning  of  necks  toward  the  scene  of  the  im- 
pending domestic  drama.  No  one  knew  exactly 
what  was  coming  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the 
ample  militancy  of  the  little  doctor's  large  wife. 

Elijah  Atcherson  stepped  within  and  strove 
vainly  to  summon  to  his  aid  the  ponderous  dignity 
with  which  he  subjugated  every  one  in  the  world 
with  the  single  exception  of  his  consort.  But  it 
was  no  go.  He  was  too  small,  too  skinny,  too 
bedraggled,  too  woebegone.  His  clothes  were  plas- 
tered with  wet,  sticky  mud;  his  spectacles  awry, 
his  huge  feet  mud-coated  and  resembling  a  pair 
of  ditch-digging  instruments  after  a  hard  day's 
work.  The  voice  of  Mrs.  Lushtisha  Atcherson  cut 
nasally  through  the  crowded  store. 

"  Is  you  have  a  good  time  on  yo'  joy-ride?" 

Dr.  Atcherson  gazed  beseechingly  into  the  eyes 
of  his  wife.  "  Now,  Lustisha  .  .  ."  he  wheedled. 

"  Don't  you  staht  '  Now-Lustisha-in' '  me,  'Lijah. 
I  asts  you  again  an'  fo'  the  secon'  time:  is  you 
have  a  good  time  on  yo'  joy-ride?  " 

"  I  been  out  on  a  perfessional  call." 

"Huh!  Pow'ful  funny  perfession  you  is  got. 
Where  you  go  to?  " 

"  Two  miles  this  side  of  Potterville." 


284  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  How  long  was  you  at  yo'  patient's  house?  " 

"  'Bout  —'bout  an  hour." 

"An'  you  been  five  hours  gittin'  back  —  huh?" 

"  The  sto'm,  Honey.  .  .  ." 

"  Don'  you  go  tellin'  me  no  raalorna  bout'n  you 
got  stuck  in  the  mud  'cause  I  is  been  married  to 
you  too  long  to  stan'  fo'  any  sech  a  story  as  that." 

"  The  roads  was  slipp'y  — " 

"  So  was  you.  I  is  had  enough  of  these  heah 
goin's-on,  'Lijah  Atcherson.  I  is  bringin'  all  these 
folks  to  bear  witness  I  is  stood  my  las'  insult  at 
yo'  ban's." 

"  What  you  mean :  insult?  " 

Lustisha  struck  an  attitude :  clenched  hands  rest- 
ing on  that  portion  of  her  anatomy  possessed  of 
greatest  beam.  "  If'n  'tain't  a  insult  fo'  a  married 
man  to  go  traipsin'  'roun'  with  a  yaller  hussy  — " 

Corena  Clemmins,  up  to  this  moment  a  passive 
—  if  angry  —  spectator,  stiffened.  She  shoved  be- 
tween the  harried  man  of  medicine  and  his  glori- 
ously angry  spouse.  "  Tha's  enough  of  that,  Mis' 
Atcherson ! " 

The  crowd  eddied  closer  about  the  prospective 
combatants. 

"'Nough  of  which?" 

"  Stradoosin'  me." 

Lustisha  sniffed  her  disdain.  "  I  ain't  got  no 
words  fo'  you,  gal." 

"  Yo'd  better  have  words  fo'  me,  Mis'  Atcherson, 
an'  lots  of  'em,"  snapped  Corena  firmly,  "  because 
if'n  I  ain't  git  a  'pology  quick  Ise  gwine  have  you 
'rested  fo'  criminal  liable." 

"  You  is  on'y  jes'  talkin'  with  yo'  mouth." 

"  You  is  the  one  been  talkin'  with  yo'  mouth,  Mis' 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  285 

Atcherson,  an'  less'n  you  'pologizes  quick  you  is 
gwine  be  mighty  sorry  you  done  same." 

Lustisha  gazed  first  at  Corena,  then  at  the  cower- 
ing figure  of  her  husband . —  then  at  Corena  again. 
There  was  no  hint  of  leniency  in  Corena's  attitude 
and  Lustisha  experienced  a  vague  doubt  as  to  the 
wisdom  of  her  public  diatribes.  She  hedged.  "  I 
ain't  on'y  said  my  husban' — " 

"  You  done  call  me  a  hussy.  Tologize  an'  'polo- 
gize  quick ! " 

"  Well  .  .  .  I'll  admit  I  ain't  know  it." 

"  You  is  gwine  admit  I  is  a  lady." 

Lustisha  tossed  her  head  angrily.  "All  right, 
be  a  lady  if'n  you  wants.  You  cain't  make  me 
mad." 

With  that  she  turned  away,  signally  defeated  in 
the  first  open  clash  with  her  husband's  office  assist- 
ant and  keenly  conscious  that  she  had  become  a 
laughing-stock.  Corena,  smiling  triumphantly, 
sailed  through  the  store  toward  the  offices  in  the 
rear.  Elijah  Atcherson  followed  fearfully  in  her 
wake.  In  the  sanctity  of  his  office  he  faced  her: 
his  expression  a  masterpiece  in  concentrated  lugu- 
briousness. 

"  We  is  done  played  hell  now,  Miss  Clemmins." 

"  Mebbe  so  you  is,  Dr.  Atcherson.  Me,  I  ain't  got 
nothin'  whichever  to  do  with  yo'  dimestic  affairs." 

"  Yes,  you  is." 

"  How  come?  " 

"  You  is  done  make  a  fool  outen  my  wife  — " 

"  The  Lawd  done  that." 

"  I  ain't  'sputin'  with  you.  But  what  you  done 
out  they  in  public  she  is  gwine  git  revenge  fo'." 

"  I  ain't  skeered  of  her." 


286  POLISHED  EBONY 

"But  I  is,"  he  postulated  dolefully.  "She  is 
gwine  take  it  out  on  me  w'en  we  gits  home." 

"  Hrnph !  If  n  I  was  a  hen-pecked  man  like  what 
you  is  —  which  I  ain't,  bless  Gawd!  —  I'd  puffo'm 
a  operation  fo'  the  removal  of  a  weddin'  ring." 

"  Not  a  chancst  to  d'vohce  her." 

"  How  come  not?  " 

"  She  won't  let  me." 

Once  in  the  bedroom  of  their  pretentious  home  on 
Eighteenth  street,  Lustisha  opened  fire.  Elijah, 
stripped  of  his  pomposity,  sank  supinely  into  a 
chair  and  listened  limply.  Lustisha  said  every- 
thing about  him  she  could  think  of  and  many  things 
regarding  Corena  Clemmins  which  she  dared  not 
say  in  public.  Finally,  however,  she  ran  out  of 
breath.  Elijah  looked  up  meekly. 

"That  all?"  he  inquired. 

"  No  — 'tain't." 

He  sighed  resignedly.  "  Go  ahead.  Might's  well 
finish  'count  you  got  such  a  good  staht." 

"  You  is  got  to  make  public  respitution." 

"Fo'  what?" 

"  Fo  the  insult  you  an'  that  hussy  made  on  me 
t'night." 

"  How  we  insulted  you?  " 

"  Nev'  min'  how :  f ac'  is,  you  done  it.  An',  like 
what  I  is  said  —  you  is  got  to  make  public  respitu- 
tion." 

"How?    How?" 

"  You  is  got  to  decharge  that  woman." 

He  sat  up  straight  in  his  chair,  the  one  surviv- 
ing spark  of  belligerency  flaming.  "  Won't !  " 

"Will!" 

"  I  say  I  won't." 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  287 

"  You  got  to." 

"Cain't!"  he  clinched. 

"  What  you  mean :  cain't?  " 

"  Ain't  got  no  cause." 

"  Joy-ridin' — " 

"  I  is  tellin'  you  I  ain't  hahdly  knowed  she  was 
with  me  — " 

"  Lis'n  heah  at  what  I  is  sayin',  'Lijah  Atcher- 
son :  I  seen  that  gal  ridin'  with  you  —  seen  her 
with  my  own  eyes  —  an'  she  had  her  haid  on  yo' 
shoulder.  An'  don'  you  go  tellin'  me  a  man  don' 
know  w'en  a  good-lookin'  gal  has  her  haid  on  his 
shoulder." 

"  You  is  all  wrong/' 

"  I  seen  it  from  the  street  car." 

"  You  is  the  seein'est  woman,  Lustisha,"  he  ex- 
claimed impatiently.  "  You  sees  things  which  ain't 
never  was." 

"  That  they  woman  is  got  you  fooled,  'Lijah  At- 
cherson.  Ev'y  man  an'  woman  in  our  sassiety  set 
is  laughin'  at  you." 

"  Whaffo'  they  laugh  at  me?  " 

"  Fo'  how  that  woman  is  niakin'  a  monkey  outen 
you.  She's  a  nachel-bohn  warn  pi  re  an'  you  ain't 
got  sencst  enough  to  see  it.  She  is  wainpin'  you 
on  account  you  is  rich  an'  pretty  soon  they  is  gwine 
be  some  blackmail." 

"  Huh !  Lustisha  —  you  is  been  gwine  to  too 
much  movies." 

"  What  I  sees  I  knows,"  she  retorted  hotly. 
"  An'  what  I  knows  I  knows,  an'  I  knows  she  ain't 
nothin'  'ceptin'  on'y  a  pe'fessional  wampire." 

He  laughed  heavily.  "Haw  ...  I  is  a  swell 
specimen  fo'  a  wampire  to  pick  on,  ain't  I?  " 


288  POLISHED  EBONY 

"  Skinny  little  no-'count  runts  like  what  you  is, 
is  the  easiest  pickin's  what  they  is  fo'  wampires, 
'Lijah." 

He  waved  his  hand  shortly.  "  They  ain't  no  use 
makin'  no  mo'  talk  'bout'n  it  noways,  Lustisha. 
Corena  Clemmins  is  under  contrac'  with  me  an'  Dr. 
Herrin'  ontil  nex'  April  an'  I  an'  him  ain't  gwine 
th'ow  away  no  eight  hund'ed  dollars  by  lettin'  her 
go  even  if  he  was  willin'." 

Her  lips  compressed  into  a  straight  red  line. 
"An' he  ain't?" 

"  No." 

"  He  likes  her?  " 

"Shuah  does." 

"  Hmph !    An'  him  a  engage'  man !  " 

"  My  Gawd !  Lustisha,  ain't  you  nev'  gwine  be- 
lieve us'n  don'  regahd  her  noways  'ceptin'  on'y  as  a 
nu'se?" 

"  I  ain't  nev'  gwine  disrumgahd  the  fac'  that  a 
man  c'n  git  all  the  medical  degrees  which  is  an' 
they  ain't  no  guarantee  wrote  on  his  diploma  which 
says  he  is  gwine  be  blind  to  a  pretty  face  an'  a 
good  figger.  Ise  jes'  tellin'  you  this  —  you  is  got 
to  get  rid  of  her  or  they  is  gwine  be  trouble 
a-plen'y.  Heah  me?" 

"  Heahin'  you  is  the  easiest  thing  they  is." 

"  All  right.     Now  I  is  th'ough." 

Elijah  Atcherson  nodded.  "  Bless  Gawd !  "  he 
said  under  his  breath. 

For  several  days  thereafter  Mrs.  Lustisha  Atcher- 
son maintained  a  strange  and  unnatural  silence  to- 
wards her  spouse  regarding  the  radiant  trained 
nurse.  Elijah  was  at  first  darkly  suspicious,  and 
finally  philosophically  reconciled  to  the  temporary 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  289 

peace.  He  was  not  given  to  anticipating  the  to- 
morrows of  his  domestic  life.  Too  well  he  knew 
that  they  were  certain  to  come,  and  come  kicking. 
His  wife  was  a  veritable  genius  at  discovering  new 
reasons  for,  and  methods  of,  household  torture. 
But  the  seed  of  doubt  had  been  planted  and  Dr. 
Elijah  Atcherson  did  a  little  watching  on  his  own 
hook. 

Thinking  it  over  in  the  light  of  the  recent  ulti- 
matum, he  decided  unanimously  that  Corena  Clem- 
mins  was  entirely  too  pretty  a  person  for  the  worka- 
day world.  He  decided  further  that  there  might 
—  only  might,  mind  you  —  be  some  ulterior  motive 
in  her  assiduous  attention  to  duty.  She  was  al- 
ways willing  to  hold  private  confabs  with  the  doctor 
or  his  dentist  friend.  True:  they  were  no  excep- 
tions —  she  was  popular  with  all  men.  She  seemed 
to  strive  for  such  popularity.  She  even  spent  a 
great  deal  of  her  time  in  the  company  of  the  sar- 
torially  perfect  Mr.  March  Clisby,  manager  of  The 
Gold  Crown  Ice  Cream  Parlour,  and  owner  of  a 
one-third  interest  therein. 

Dr.  Atcherson  knew  considerable  about  medicine 
and  surgery  but  his  ideas  of  vampiring  were  hazy. 
He  fancied  that  all  vampires  worked  this  way :  hav- 
ing many  men  on  a  string  —  men  of  money  and  in- 
fluence. Men  whose  standing  in  the  community 
was  a  commercial  asset.  Of  course  it  was  ridicu- 
lous that  she  could  see  anything  attractive  in  his 
shrivelled  self,  yet  it  was  undeniably  true  that  she 
never  shirked  an  opportunity  to  be  with  him. 
Ergo:  she  must  have  an  ulterior  motive.  Or  two 
or  three  of  them. 

Personally  Dr.  Atcherson  wanted  nothing  to  do 


290  POLISHED  EBONY 

with  her  or  any  other  woman.  He  desired  nothing 
so  much  as  the  complete  elimination  of  the  sex  — 
starting  with  his  wife.  His  experience  with  woman 
had  been  in  the  singular  number,  possessive  case  — 
and  productive  of  a  large,  gloomy  gob  of  unrelieved 
misery.  Still,  until  his  wife's  tongue  again  dripped 
vitriol  he  was  content  to  let  well  enough  alone  and 
went  his  way  with  such  contentment  as  he  could 
summon  —  not  however,  entirely  free  from  doubt 
of  Corena  Clemmins'  motives. 

But  if  Elijah  succeeded  in  hypnotizing  himself 
into  the  belief  that  because  his  wife  had  suddenly 
become  tight-lipped  on  the  subject  of  vampires  in 
general  and  Miss  Corena  Clemmins  in  particular, 
she  had  forgotten  her  humiliation  in  the  Gold 
Crown  Ice  Cream  Parlour  or  her  hatred  of  Miss 
Clemmins  —  he  was  wrong. 

Lnstisha  Atcherson  became  a  snooper.  And  she 
did  her  snooping  usually  around  the  Gold  Crown 
Ice  Cream  Parlour  where  from  her  vantage  point 
at  a  certain  seat  at  a  certain  table  she  could  see 
much  of  what  transpired  in  the  offices  at  the  rear. 

Lustisha,  too,  quickly  learned  that  Corena  was  a 
charmer  of  men.  It  was  she  who  noticed  two  im- 
portant things :  first,  that  Corena  was  openly  striv- 
ing to  ensnare  the  affections  of  Dr.  Brutus  Herring 
and,  second,  that  she  was  not  unwilling  to  practice 
on  smaller  fry:  the  potential  victim  in  this  case 
being  the  immaculate  March  Clisby. 

Finally  Lustisha's  patience  was  rewarded. 
Early  one  sultry  July  afternoon  she  swept  indig- 
nantly out  of  Dr.  Herring's  office  and  made  her 
way  with  all  the  speed  her  bulk  permitted  to  the 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  291 

home  of  Miss  Mayola  Kye,  fiance  of  Dr.  Herring. 

Mayola's  demure  little  face,  and  tiny,  rounded 
figure  gave  no  hint  of  the  battle  spirit  which 
smouldered  within  her.  At  heart  she  was  a  fiery 
little  thing;  intensely  in  love  with  the  handsome, 
debonair,  Herculean  Dr.  Brutus  Herring  —  and  in- 
sanely jealous.  At  sight  of  her  visitor  Mayola  ex- 
perienced a  qualm  —  and  then  another  qualm.  She 
didn't  like  Lustisha  because  Lustisha's  visits  in- 
variably boded  trouble  of  some  sort.  And  trouble 
was  something  which  Mayola  avoided  whenever  she 
saw  it  first.  Now,  however,  there  was  no  escape 
so  Mayola  made  the  best  of  a  bad  situation. 

"  Evenin',  Mis'  Atcherson." 

"  Evenin',  Miss  Kye.     How  you  is  this  evenin'?  " 

"  Tol' able  —  tol'able,  thank  you.     How  you  is?  " 

"Mis'able!"  snapped  Mrs.  Atcherson  in  her 
nasal,  high-pitched  tones.  "  Jes'  plain  mis'able." 

"'Count  of  which?" 

"  Men ! " 

"  Meanin'— ?  " 

"  All  men,  an'  mos'  pertickeler  my  husban'." 

"  Sho'  now,  Mis'  Atcherson;  they  ain't  nothin' 
wrong  with  yo'  husban'." 

"  Lot  you  know  bout'n  him." 

"  Don'  he  treat  you  good?  " 

"He'd  better!" 

"  I  is  sho',  Mis'  Atcherson,  that  you  is  misundum- 
stood  sumthin'." 

"  I  is  been  a  innercent,  trustin'  fool,  an'  w'en  I 
fin's  out  what  I  fin's  out  today,  Miss  Kye,  I  says 
to  myse'f,  I  says :  '  Us  wimmin  is  got  to  stan'  to- 
gether.' Tha's  jes'  'zac'ly  what  I  says." 


292  POLISHED  EBONY 

Mayola  had  no  desire  whatever  to  stand  together 
with  Mrs.  Atcherson,  but  she  nodded  approvingly. 
"Ain't  it  the  truth?" 

"  So  I  come  right  to  you,  Miss  Kye,  'cause  you  is 
the  one  pusson  ought  to  know  bout'n  it  even  if  it 
hu'ts  to  heah  it.  I  feel  it's  my  bounden  duty,  Miss 
Kye—" 

"  You  neeVt  go  worryin'  yo'se'f  — " 

"  I  knows  it.  But  I  is  a  cha'itable  woman,  Miss 
Kye,  an'  I  woul'n't  go  seein'  no  lady — 'specially 
a  Lodge  Sister,  git  into  sech  a  fate.  An'  seein'  as 
you  is  a' ready  engage'  to  him  — " 

Mayola  grew  rigid.  Her  eyes  dilated.  "  En- 
gage' to  which?" 

"  Brutus  Herrin',  ob  co'se.     Who  else?  " 

"  Wh-what  'bout  Brutus?  " 

"  Him  an'  that  woman." 

"  I  ain't  quite  on'erstan',  Mis'  Atcherson." 

"  That  nu'se  which  him  an'  Dr.  Atcherson  is  got 
down  to  they  office.  She  is  a'ready  mint  my  hus- 
ban' —  ol'  wampire !  " 

Mayola's  lips  came  together  firmly.  "  I  cain't 
'low  nobody  to  talk  'gainst  my  fiansay,  Mis'  Atcher- 
son :  not  nobody." 

"  I  ain't  said  nothin'  ag'in  him,  is  I?  " 

"  You  has  'sinuated  — " 

"  I  ain't  'sinuated  nothin'  I  ain't  know  is  fac'." 

Mayola  was  impressed  in  spite  of  herself. 
«  What  you  is  drivin'  at?  " 

Lustisha  rose.     "  Ifn  you  ain't  interes'  .  .  ." 

"  I  is.     'Deed  I  is.     Set  down  —  please." 

Somewhat  mollified,  Mrs.  Atcherson  re-seated 
herself.  "  They  ain't  nothin'  I  is  savin'  bout'n  him 
I  ain't  sayin'  bout  my  own  husban'.  That  warn- 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  293 

pire  nu'se  —  that  Corena  Cleminins  —  is  wampin' 
them  men.  .  .  ." 

It  looked  like  mere  spiteful  conjecture  to  Mayola 
and  she  could  not,  in  duty,  sit  idly  by  while  this 
stout  creature  traduced  her  beloved.  "  You  know 
what  the  poeck  says  in  Latin,  Mis'  Atcherson  — 
Honey  swat  key  molly  pants?  " 

"  I  ain't  interes'  in  what  no  poeck  says  in  Latin, 
Miss  Kye.  I  is  interes'  on'y  in  what  niggers  says 
in  English.  An'  what  they  does !  An'  w'en  a  good- 
lookin'  young  man  gives  a  han'some  woman  a  solid 
goP  ring  of  eighteen  carrots,  I  reckon  they  ain't  no 
poecks  gwine  make  me  think  they  ain't  suiuthin' 
mo'  to  it  than  jes'  on'y  plutonic  friendship." 

"  Who  give  which  a  gol'  ring?  " 

"  Brutus  Herrin'  give  Corena  Clemmins  one. 
Nor  neither  that  ain't  all,  Miss  Kye.  Twas  a  ring 
he  made  his  ownse'f  outen  gol'  which  he  had  in  his 
office  an'  jes'  fo'  the  pussonal  sediment  of  it  —  he 
set  it  with  a  beautiful  false  tooth,  'stead  of  a  df- 
min'." 

It  was  too  much  for  Mayola.  Some  things  she 
might  have  overlooked  but  not  this  infamy.  The 
idea  that  her  dearly  beloved  had  with  his  own  hands 
created  a  ring  and  by  way  of  exquisitely  delicate 
sentiment  set  it  with  a  false  tooth,  prostrated  her. 
Her  trim  little  figure  grew  tense  and  she  leaned 
forward  in  the  chair:  hands  tightly  clenched. 
"  You  c'n  prove  that,  Mis'  Atcherson?  " 

Lustisha  shrugged  indifferently.  "Ain't  got  to 
prove  it.  You  go  ast  him." 

Mayola  was  galvanized  into  action.  She  rose 
determinedly.  "  I  is  gwine  do  jes'  that ! "  she 
snapped,  and  vanished  within  the  house.  When 


294  POLISHED  EBONY 

she  emerged,  dressed  for  the  street,  Lustisha  had 
disappeared. 

Mayola  went  immediately  to  the  offices  in  the 
rear  of  the  Gold  Crown  Ice  Cream  Parlour. 
March  Clisby  beamed  at  her  from  behind  the  foun- 
tain. "  Evenin',  Miss  Kye." 

"Evenin',  Mistuh  Clisby,"  came  the  frigid  an- 
swer. "  Where  Dr.  Herrin'  is  at?  " 

"  In  his  office." 

"Alone?" 

"  Uh-huh." 

"  Where  Miss  Clemmins  is?  " 

March  Clisby  glanced  at  her  peculiarly.  "  In 
the  office  with  Dr.  Atcherson.  Why?" 

Mayola's  tense  nerves  jangled.  She  swung  on 
the  unoffending  soda  king.  "  I  knows  a  heap  of 
folks,  Mistuh  Clisby,  which  makes  a  good  livin'  by 
mindin'  they  own  business! " 

What  display  of  lovers'  passion  there  was  in  the 
meeting  between  Dr.  Brutus  Herring  and  the  de- 
sirable Mayola,  had  its  source  within  his  breast. 
She  was  frigidly  aloof.  And  she  came  to  the  point 
with  a  directness  that  fairly  flabbergasted  him. 
For  a  minute  he  was  too  startled  to  reply.  She 
stamped  her  foot  impatiently :  "  Did  you  or  di'n't 
you  give  her  a  gol'  ring  which  you  made  yo'  own- 
se'f  an'  set  with  a  false  tooth?" 

"  Why  —  why  —  Mayola.  .  .  ." 

"  Is  or  ain't?  " 

"  It  —  it  wa'n't  on'y  jes'  a  trifle." 

"Then  you  did,  huh?" 

"  Jes'  a  HT  trifle,  Mayola.     On'y  jes' — " 

She  was  perilously  close  to  tears.  "  I  is  th'ough 
an'  done  with  you,  Brutus  Herrin',"  she  railed 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  295 

passionately.  "  You  an'  that  no-'count  'Lijah  At- 
cherson,  both.  Ain't  you  got  sense  enough  to  see 
that  woman  ain't  nothin'  on'y  a  plain,  common, 
o'dina'y,  ev'yday  wampire  which  is  came  heah  to 
work  you  an'  'Lijah  Atcherson  on  account  you  is 
rich?  Ain't  that  plain?  Sho'  'tis  — an'  you  is 
done  fell  fo'  it  ...  tha's  how  come  you  come  to 
give  her  that  ring  which  you  made  yo'  ownse'f.  I 
reckon  I  is  been  a  fool,  Brutus  Herrin'.  But  I 
ain't  gwine  be  no  fool  no  longer'n  what  I  is  a'ready 
been.  Heah  — "  she  ripped  from  her  finger  the 
handsome  diamond  engagement  ring  he  had  pre- 
sented to  her  a  few  months  previously.  "  Give 
Corena  Clemmins  this  heah  ring,  too.  Reckon  it'll 
look  pow'ful  good  'longside  of  the  one  you  made." 

She  swung  toward  the  door  but  he  stopped  her. 

"Mayola!" 

"  I  ain't  gwine  make  no  mo'  talk  with  you." 

"Lemme  'splain." 

"  'Splain  to  her.  If'n  you  ever  wants  to  'splain 
to  me,  Brutus  Herrin',  the  fust  thing  you  is  got 
to  staht  off  with  is  to  tell  me  you  is  done  fired 
her." 

For  perhaps  five  minutes  after  the  door  slammed 
behind  the  girl  of  his  heart,  Dr.  Brutus  Herring 
stood  staring  at  the  mute,  mocking  panels.  The 
ring  ...  of  course  he  had  given  Corena  the  ring. 
Corena  was  a  good  scout  —  at  least  he  had  always 
so  thought.  She  had  assisted  wonderfully  in  his 
work.  She  —  wky,  dawg-gawn  it!  —  she  was  the 
first  nurse  with  whom  he  had  ever  worked  who 
was  able  to  give  gas  successfully.  And  the  ring 
had  been  an  innocuous  token  of  his  professional 
esteem.  Just  because  she  had  helpd  him.  .  .  . 


296  POLISHED  EBONY 

Corena  —  why,  dad-blame  it!  the  woman  was  a 
ha'nt.  He  realized  suddenly  that  she  was  the  shoal 
upon  which  Dr.  Elijah  Atcherson's  bark  had  foun- 
dered. Into  the  mind  of  Dr.  Herring  there  leaped 
an  old  saying :  "  Where  smoke  is  at  they  is  boun' 
to  be  a  blaze !  "  What  if  —  well,  both  Mrs.  Atcher- 
son  and  Mayola  Kye  had  unqualifiedly  dubbed  Co- 
rena a  vampire. 

Dr.  Herring  sank  weakly  into  a  chair.  He  felt 
ill.  In  a  second  his  well-ordered  cosmic  scheme 
had  gone  flooie.  Down  the  hall  a  door  opened, 
closed  again,  and  he  saw  the  fair  Corena  cross  the 
hall  and  enter  the  Gold  Crown.  March  Clisby 
edged  ingratiatingly  around  the  counter  and  Bru- 
tus plainly  saw  the  dazzling  smile  with  which  she 
greeted  the  elongated  man  of  business.  There  was 
no  misunderstanding  that  smile.  It  was  the  smile 
which  a  woman  reserves  for  the  man  she  desires  to 
bewitch.  Brutus  recalled  distinctly  the  number  of 
times  she  had  bestowed  such  a  smile  upon  him. 
Was  there  no  limit  to  the  perfidy  of  a  vampire1? 
He  knew  that  she  must  have  made  capital  of  the 
ring  he  had  given  her:  else  how  did  Mayola  know 
about  it.  The  woman  —  first  skinny,  bloodless  Dr. 
Atcherson,  then  himself  —  and  now  March  Clisby. 
Decidedly  the  vampiriug  business  was  on  a  boom. 

He  felt  an  impelling  urge  to  talk  it  over.  And 
as  co-employer  of  the  pulchritudinous  Corena  he 
sought  Elijah  Atcherson. 

The  doctor  looked  up  testily  as  he  entered. 
"  Busy  doin'  nothin'  as  usual,"  he  roared  in  greet- 
ing. "  You  dentis's  is  got  a  graf." 

Brutus  swelled  with  such  mite  of  pride  as  he 
was  able  to  muster.  "  I  is  got  a  patient  comin'  in 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  297 

half  a  hour,"  he  retorted.  "  Epocoectomy  an'  or- 
thodentia  case  both." 

"  If  n  you  got  all  that  on  yo'  min',"  discouraged 
the  M.D.,  "  what  you  come  botherin'  me  about?  I 
is  a  busy  man.  Git  out !  " 

Brutus  sank  forlornly  into  a  chair.  "Atcher- 
son,"  he  opined  gloomily,  "  sumthin'  is  got  to  be 
did." 

"  Right  —  fust  off.  An'  that  sumthin'  is  you  is 
got  to  git  outen  my  office  while  I  is  busy." 

"  This  is  impo'tant." 

"  I  guess  I  is  got  sumthin'  mo'  impo'tant  than 
what  you  is  got." 

"  I  is  mentionin'  Corena  Clemmins !  " 

Dr.  Atcherson  abruptly  laid  aside  the  microscope 
slide  he  had  been  preparing.  His  narrow-lidded 
little  eyes  glittered.  "What  'bout  her?"  he  bel- 
lowed. «  What  'bout  her?  " 

"  She's  a  wampire !  "  returned  Brutus  with  all  the 
courage  of  his  new-found  conviction. 

"  Now  lis'en  heah  at  me,  Brutus  Herrin' ;  if  n 
you  is  come  in  heah  to  dip  yo'  oah  into  my  pus- 
sonal  an'  dimestic  affairs — " 

"  This  heah  is  my  own  affair,  Atcherson.  May- 
ola  Kye  is  done  bust  up  our  'gagement  skally- 
hootin'." 

Elijah  chuckled  with  unholy  glee.  "Guess'n 
you  ain't  gwine  laugh  at  me  no  mo'  'cause  of  what 
Lustisha  done  that  night,  huh?" 

"  I  'pologize,"  returned  Brutus  humbly.  "  To 
you  an'  Mis'  Atcherson  both." 

"Huh!  Wha's  that:  what  you  is  sayin'  now? 
You  'pologize  to  Lustisha,  too?  "  Atcherson  was 
roaring  bellicosely  and  waving  his  skinny  arms  in 


298  POLISHED  EBONY 

violent  defense.  "  I  is  tellin'  you  now,  man  to  man, 
Brutus  Herrin',  what  I  is  tol'  you  heahtofo' — I 
ain't  nev'  looked  at  that  woman  no  other  way 
than  — " 

"  'Tain't  how  you  looks  at  wampires,  Atcherson ; 
it's  all  in  how  they  looks  at  you,"  and  Brutus 
plunged  into  a  detailed  and  heart-rending  recital 
of  the  circumstances  leading  to  the  ruination  of  his 
might-have-been  matrimonial  bliss.  "  The  result 
of  all  of  which  is,"  he  wound  up,  "  that  fo'  our  own 
sakes  an'  fo'  our  dimestic  peace  an'  happiness,  we 
is  got  to  fire  that  gal." 

"  Contrac1,"  raved  Atcherson.  "  She  is  got  a 
contrac'  ontil  nex'  April." 

"  We  could  offer  a  bonus  — " 

"All  right  —  offer  a  bonus  then.  I  ain't  said 
nothin'  'gainst  it,  is  I?  It's  wuth  a  hund'ed  dollars 
to  me  to  have  a  liT  peace  in  my  home  oncet  in 
awhile.  Give  her  a  bonus  an'  let  her  go." 

Brutus  glanced  nervously  around  the  office. 
"You  is  gwine  help?" 

"  Not  me." 

"  I  is  skeered  to  make  talk  with  her  alone.  I  is 
li'ble  to  git  comprimised." 

"  Huh !  Seems  like  you  cain't  git  comprimised 
no  comprimiser  than  what  you  is  a'ready.  But," 
valiantly,  "  if  you  insis's.  .  .  ." 

Dr.  Brutus  Herring  timidly  summoned  Corena 
from  the  Gold  Crown,  and  in  a  still,  small  voice 
offered  her  two  hundred  dollars  cash  in  exchange 
for  her  copy  of  their  written  contract. 

Corena  listened  in  tight-lipped  silence.  Abso- 
lutely innocent,  she  was  bulwarked  with  the  fight- 
ing sense  of  outraged  virtue.  She  swung  on  Bru- 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  299 

tus.  "  How  come  you  to  make  me  this  heah  propo- 
sition now,  Dr.  Herrin'?" 

"  Jes'  happen  so." 

"Sho'?" 

"  Absotively." 

"  Miss  May ola  Kye  —  yo'  fiansay  —  wa'n't  she  in 
heah  a  few  minutes  ago?  " 

«  Uh-huh." 

"  What  she  said  .bout'n  me?  " 

"  Nothin'." 

"  Not  even  mention  my  name?  " 

"  No.     That  is  —  not  perzac'ly." 

"  Hmph !  I  reckon  she  is  been  joinin'  in  the 
chorus  of  the  song  which  Mis'  Atcherson  stahted, 
ain't  she?" 

"  Now,  Miss  Clemmins  — " 

"Whyn't  you  fen'  me  when  she  said  things 
'gainst  me,  huh?  Ain't  neither  of  you  men  got  no 
gumption?  Whyn't  you  'fen'  me  when  Mayola 
Kye  talked  'gainst  me  jes'  now?  " 

Brutus  tumbled  into  the  trap.  "  How  you  know 
she  said  things  'gainst  you?  " 

"  I  know  it  now.  An'  I  might's  well  tell  you 
both  sum  thin'  so's  they  ain't  gwine  be  no  misun- 
dumstandin'.  W'en  Mis'  Atcherson  stahted  in  on 
me  that  night  I  been  out  in  the  sto'm  with  Dr. 
Atcherson  I  knowed  she  was  gwine  try  git  rid  of 
me.  An'  I  knowed  if  I  quitted  I'd  say  good-bye 
to  my  reppitation  as  a  lady.  So  I  done  saw  Lawyer 
Evans  Chew  an'  showed  him  that  contrac'.  He 
says  that  contrac'  cain't  be  busted,  an'  that  because 
of  its  perfessional  nature  you  is  not  on'y  got  to 
keep  on  payin'  me  my  salary  but  you  is  also  got  to 
keep  me  workin'." 


300  POLISHED  EBONY 

The  eyes  of  the  unfortunate  pair  met  and  held. 
Corena's  attitude  confirmed  their  worst  fears. 
She  had  them  in  her  power  —  just  how  and  why 
they  didn't  know  —  and  she  had  no  intention  of  re- 
leasing them.  "  Two  hund'ed  dollars  bonus? " 
tempted  Brutus. 

"  Th'ee  hund'ed?"  dared  Atcherson,  the  bellow 
gone  from  his  quivering  voice. 

"  No !  Not  th'ee  hund'ed  n'r  neither  a  thousan'. 
Yo'  wimminfolks  is  set  out  to  ruint  my  reppitation 
an'  they  ain't  gwine  do  it.  I  wants  you  both  to 
undumstan'  I  is  a  lady  an'  I  is  a  nu'se  also  an'  I 
is  got  a  contrac'  which  says  I  work  heah  on  til 
nex'  April.  Tha's  all.  Ifn  you  wan's  me,  gen'le- 
men,  on  a  perfessional  matter,  I  will  be  findable  in 
the  Gol'  Crown  Ice  Cream  Pa'lor." 

The  door  closed  firmly  behind  her.  For  five  min- 
utes there  was  nothing  to  be  heard  in  the  room  but 
silence  and  very  little  of  that.  Finally  Dr.  Elijah 
Atcherson  sighed.  It  was  a  deep,  fervent,  harried 
sigh  which  rattled  the  window-panes.  "  Wimmin 
is  plumb  hell,"  he  remarked. 

"Admittin'  that,"  rejoined  Brutus  argumenta- 
tively,  "  we  is  still  got  to  consider  how  this  heah 
wampire  is  to  be  got  rid  of." 

"  Ain't  you  jes'  heah  her  say  she  ain't  gwine  got 
be  rid  of?  Ain't  you?  " 

"What  she  say  ain't  got  nothin'  to  do  with  it. 
She's  plumb  mad  now  an'  she  is  got  sumthin'  up 
her  sleeve  which  we  ain't  want  her  to  perduce.  We 
is  got  to  get  rid  of  her  —  like  a  wisdom  tooth  which 
is  decayed." 

"  You  do  it  then  — you  is  a  dentis'." 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  301 

"  You  claims  you  is  got  mo'  brains  than  what 
I  is  got." 

"'Tain't  no  lawyer  brain.  An'  even  if  'twas, 
they  ain't  no  lawyer  gwine  help  us  out." 

Brutus  cogitated.  "  If  n  she'd  on'y  lef  of  her 
own  accord  — " 

"  If'n  I  ain't  nev'  had  no  su'gical  cases  'ceptin' 
simple  appendectomy  my  reco'd  would  look  awful 
good." 

"Even  wimmin  like  her  falls  in  love  — or  sum- 
thin'." 

"  Mos'  usuamly  sumthin'.  Co'se  we  is  got  to  git 
her  to  lef  us." 

"How?    If'n  we  on'y  had  one  good  frien'.  .  .  ." 

"  We  is,  but  he  coul'n't  be  no  help." 

"Name  which?" 

"  March  Clisby." 

The  men  looked  at  one  another.  Then  they  both 
started  to  speak. 

"  March  is  pow'f  ul  han'some  — " 

" —  An'  him  an'  her  is  good  frien's  — " 

" — They  been  knowin'  each  other  sencst  befo' 
she  come  to  work  fo'  us  — " 

" —  An'  he'd  do  a  heap  if  n  we  ast  him." 

They  waited  until  Miss  Clemmins  had  completed 
her  day's  labours  and  departed  for  the  sacred  pre- 
cincts of  her  boarding  house  on  Seventeenth  street. 
Then  March  was  summoned  into  conference.  He 
eyed  askance  the  fragrant  perfecto  which  Elijah 
forced  upon  him  and  shied  from  Brutus's  eager- 
ness to  light  it.  After  much  verbose  preamble  they 
got  down  to  brass  tacks. 

March  listened  popeyed  to  their  tale  of  woe,  puff- 


302  POLISHED  EBONY 

ing  great  clouds  of  smoke  into  the  room  and  shak- 
ing his  head  from  side  to  side  as  though  it  was  too 
heavy  for  his  long,  thin  neck.  Finally  the  collabo- 
rated story  was  completed  and  the  professional  men 
eagerly  awaited  March's  decision.  It  came  hesi- 
tatingly. 

"  Ise  bettin'  you  gen'lemen  is  all  wrong,"  he  de- 
clared. 

"  Mebbe  one  of  us'd  be  wrong,"  answered  Atcher- 
son  in  a  voice  as  free  from  a  roar  as  nature  per- 
mitted, "but  never  both  ob  us.  Not  never  both. 
It  jes'  coul'n't  happen." 

"  But  I  been  knowin'  Corena  — " 

"  So  is  we :  tha's  the  trouble." 

"  She  must  of  had  some  reason  fo'  refusin'  to 
quit." 

"  My  Gawd !  March  Clisby  —  ain't  that  what  we 
is  been  tellin'  you  fo'  the  past  half  a  hour?  Co'se 
she  is  got  a  reason  an'  the  reason  is  us.  She  ain't 
nothin'  on'y  jes'  a  wampire." 

March's  eyes  narrowed.  "  An'  you  claims  to  be 
my  frien's?" 

"  We  is  yo'  frien's." 

"  Yet  you  is  wishin'  me  onto  a  woman  which  you 
says  is  mint  you  both?  " 

"You  ain't  engage' — neither  married." 

"I  —  I  —  know  that.  .  .  ."  March  hesitated  — 
and  was  lost.  Brutus  and  Elijah  opened  a  verbal 
bombardment  before  which  better  men  than  March 
would  have  fallen.  They  fairly  overflowed  with 
persuasive  logic.  According  to  their  arguments, 
March  Clisby  would  assure  himself  a  private  little 
golden  throne  in  heaven  by  this  act  of  charity ;  he 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  303 

would  become  a  benefactor  to  the  human  race  by 
setting  up  <as  an  eliminator  of  vampires. 

"  B-b-but,"  stammered  the  dazed  March,  coming 
up  for  air,  "  what  they  is  in  it  fo'  me?  " 

"  Oh !  "  There  was  a  sudden  letdown  in  enthusi- 
asm. "  SumthinV  answered  Atcherson  vaguely. 

"What?"  persisted  March  cannily.  "Co'se  — 
pervidin'  I  succeeds." 

The  bare  mention  of  success  proved  the  Open 
Sesame  to  their  wallets.  "  How  much  you  want, 
March?" 

March  Clisby  hesitated.  He  knew  that  these 
men  needed  his  help  —  yet,  understanding  the  sore- 
ness of  their  straits,  he  hesitated  to  voice  his  de- 
mands. "  I  is  a  young  man,"  he  opened  timidly, 
"  an'  I  ain't  got  nothin'  befo'  me  on'y  a  future  — " 

"Yeh  .  .  .  yeh.  .  .  ." 

"  An' —  an' —  well,  I  was  thinkin'  if 'n  I  c'n  do 
this  heah  thing  fo'  you  gen'lenien  you-all  ought  to 
be  willin'  to  give  me  another  thi'd  of  the  GoF 
Crown  Ice  Cream  Parlour  so's  I'd  own  the  cum- 
trollin'  interes'." 

The  price  was  steep  but  not  sufficiently  steep 
to  beget  any  great  amount  of  hesitation.  The  Gold 
Crown  was  a  good  paying  proposition  as  such  prop- 
ositions go,  but  both  doctors  were  too  well  fixed  in 
the  goods  of  the  world  to  require  the  little  which 
they  received  as  a  two-thirds  share  of  its  revenue. 

"  Tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  compromised  Elijah. 
"  T'morrow  mawnin'  we'll  go  down  to  Lawyer  Ar- 
topee  Gaillard  an'  draw  up  a  contrac'  which  gives 
you  cumtrol  as  gene'al  manager  no  matter  what 
we  says  an'  also  gives  you  two-thi'ds  of  the  profits 


304  POLISHED  EBONY 

s'long's  you  stay  with  the  business.  That  gives 
you  all  what  you  wants  an'  pertec's  us  case'n  you 
ev'  got  sore  an'  wan'ed  to  sell  us  out." 

March  Clisby  beamed  beatifically.  He  extended 
both  hands  comprehensively.  "  You  is  both  gen'le- 
men  of  the  fust  water,"  he  proclaimed,  "  an  I  is 
proud  to  sacrifice  myse'f  on  the  altar  of  my  frien'- 
ship  fo'  such." 

By  noon  of  the  following  day  Elijah  and  Brutus 
were  all  smiles.  There  was  no  gainsaying  the  fact 
that  March  had  no  intention  whatever  of  shirking 
his  end  of  the  bargain.  He  spent  every  available 
minute  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Miss  Clemmins, 
smirking  and  smiling  ingratiatingly :  a  fish  angling 
for  the  bait.  He  brought  to  the  reception-room  — 
when  it  was  vacant  —  foamy,  frothy,  ice-cream 
sodas,  samples  par  excellence  of  his  own  handi- 
work. That  night  he  begged  off  and,  leaving  his 
assistant  in  charge,  escorted  Miss  Clemmins  to 
Champion  Moving  Picture  Theatre  Number  Two  — 
Coloured  Only  —  where  they  sat  tensely  through 
the  ninth  blood-curdling  episode  of  The  Hounding 
of  Hattie. 

During  the  days  which  followed  March  intensi- 
fied his  efforts.  Nor  did  Corena  Clemmins  register 
any  violent  objections.  Her  attitude  toward  Bru- 
tus and  Elijah,  however,  was  cold  and  aloof  — 
much  to  the  delight  of  those  gentlemen.  She  was 
icily  professional  and  stonily  distant.  The  doc- 
tors attributed  it  all  to  March's  effective  work  and 
gave  that  earnest  young  man  due  and  liberal  credit. 

Brutus  made  two  attempts  to  get  back  into  the 
good  graces  of  Mayola  Kye.  Both  times  the  door 
was  slammed  viciously  in  his  face.  As  for  Lus- 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  305 

tisha  Atcherson,  she  maintained  her  menacing  at- 
titude of  potential  belligerence.  The  doctors 
waited  impatiently  for  concrete  developments. 
And  the  developments  were  not  long  in  material- 
izing. Twelve  days  after  the  original  conversa- 
tion, March  Clisby  drew  them  into  conference  in 
Brutus's  office.  He  reclined  luxuriously  in  the 
dentist's  chair,  lighted  a  Turkish  cigaret  and  made 
his  report. 

"  Gen'lemen,"  he  announced,  "  you-all  shuah  did 
han'  me  out  a  tough  job." 

"  Huh?    You  ain't  mean  — " 

" —  I  mean  I  is  tried  'suasion  an'  ev'ything  else 
what  they  is  to  try  an'  'tain't  no  use." 

"  Oh !  Lawdy,  March  —  you  ain't  quittin'  on  us, 
is  you?" 

"  No-o :  not  perzac'ly." 

"  What  you  mean :  not  'zac'ly?  " 

"They  ain't  on'y  one  way  to  remove  Corena 
away  fum  heah?" 

"Come  which?" 

"  I  is  got  to  marry  her !  " 

Brutus  looked  at  Elijah  and  Elijah  looked  at 
Brutus.  Their  consciences  were  suddenly  trou- 
blesome. It  was  plain  that  March  had  succumbed 
to  the  lure  of  the  siren,  and  also  patent  that  the 
trustful  young  man  little  understood  the  halter 
which  he  was  calmly  proposing  to  place  about  his 
own  neck. 

"  Marry  her?  " 

«  Uh-huh." 

"  But,  March  —  they  sho'ly  must  be  some  other 

He  shook  his  head  in  positive  negation.    "  I  been 


306  POLISHED  EBONY 

knowin'  that  gal  longer'n  what  you  has,  Doc.  An' 
w'en  she's  sot  on  a  thing  she's  sot  on  it  thorough  an' 
complete.  They  ain't  no  movin'  her  a  tall.  An' 
if  n  I  is  any  jedge  she  is  sot  on  remainin'  where 
she  is  at  ontil  she  is  married." 

Brntus  sighed.  He  was  a  tender-hearted  man 
and  hated  to  guide  his  friend  to  the  slaughter. 
But  his  own  happiness  meant  much.  He  spread  his 
hands  wide  in  a  gesture  of  grudging  consent. 
"  Well  —  go  ahead  an'  marry  her." 

Elijah  cleared  his  throat  and  bobbed  his  head. 
"  Guess  you  is  got  to,  March." 

March  Clisby  unctuously  rubbed  the  palms  of 
his  hands  together.  "  That  brings  on  mo'  talk  — " 
and  he  hesitated  modestly. 

"Which?" 

"A  gal  like  what  Corena  is  —  she  ain't  gwine 
stan'  fo'  no  six-bits  weddin'.  She  is  gwine  deman' 
all  the  trimmin's  an'  a  reg'lar  sho'-nuff  honey- 
moon." 

"Ain't  it  the  truth?" 

"An'  I  cain't  'ford  it!" 

"  Oh !  "  Elijah  was  beginning  to  see  a  light. 
"  We  is  gave  you  enough  a'ready,  March." 

March  started  to  rise.  "  Ifrn  tha's  how  you 
feel  bouten  it,  Dr.  Atcherson,  I  reckon  I  ain't  got 
to  marry  her,  is  I?  " 

Brutus  forced  the  victim  back  into  the  chair. 
"  Yes,  you  is,"  he  grated.  "  How  much  this  heah 
swell  weddin'  an'  honeymoon  gwine  cos'?  " 

The  prospective  bridegroom  set  his  figure  at  a 
minimum :  "  Th'ee  hund'ed  dollars." 

"  Make  it  two  hund'ed  an'  fifty." 

"  Th'ee  hund'ed  is  the  rock-bottom  price  an'  I  is 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  307 

losin'  money  at  that,  genPlemen.     Remember,  I  is 
the  one  got  to  live  with  her  all  my  nachel  life." 

Elijah  sighed  ponderously.  "  Bein'  a  married 
man,  March,  I  know  sumthin'  bouten  what  that 
means.  S'far's  I  is  concerned  at,  the  th'ee  hun- 
d'ed  is  satisfactory."  He  tentatively  produced  his 
checkbook.  "You  is  shuah  she  is  gwine  marry 
you?" 

"  Soht  of." 

"  Soon  as  the  'gagement  is  publicly  announce', 
March,  you  gits  the  th'ee  hund'ed.  We'll  write 
the  cheks  an'  hol'n  'em  ontil  then." 

"  Tha's  easy,"  grinned  March.  "  I  is  bettin'  I 
c'n  cash  in  by  t'night." 

And  he  did!  Immediately  on  the  heels  of  the 
announcement  Brutus  was  received  once  again  into 
the  arms  of  the  adoring  Mayola  —  thoroughly  con- 
trite now  for  the  manner  in  which  she  had  treated 
him.  As  for  Lustisha,  she  actually  beamed  upon 
her  husband  across  their  dinner  table  and  just  be- 
fore his  departure  after  the  evening  meal,  she  im- 
planted a  warm,  moist  kiss  upon  his  unwilling  lips. 

The  wedding,  which  occurred  three  weeks  later, 
marked  a  social  epoch.  Even  Lustisha  Atcherson, 
who  could  not  have  been  kept  away  by  a  team  of 
wild  horses,  admitted  that  the  bride  presented  a 
thoroughly  entrancing  picture.  Mayola  Eye,  in- 
toxicated by  the  festive  atmosphere,  unbent  so  far 
as  to  kiss  the  bride. 

A  large  portion  of  unalloyed  bliss  had  settled 
upon  the  shoulders  of  each  of  the  guests.  Su- 
preme hilarity  held  sway  and  raucous  humour  ran 
rampant.  Professor  Alec  Champagne's  string-and- 
reed  orchestra  furnished  an  amplitude  of  raggy, 


308  POLISHED  EBONY 

itchy  dance  music.  Even  Elijah  Atcherson  allowed 
a  corner  of  his  mantle  of  dignity  to  slip  as  he  cir- 
culated through  the  crowd,  his  bellicose  basso  ris- 
ing triumphantly  above  the  din. 

And  finally  the  midnight  hour  approached  and 
the  blushing  bride  retired  to  her  boudoir  to  don 
travelling  garb.  Brutus  Herring  and  Elijah  Atch- 
erson cornered  the  bridegroom  in  the  hallway  and 
pressed  a  thin  envelope  into  his  willing  hand. 

"They's  fifty  dollars,  March.  Tha's  over  an' 
above  what  we  is  a'ready  gave  you.  You  is  sho' 
done  yo'  work  tho'ough  an'  we  wants  you  to  know 
that  we  'predates  it." 

March  was  overcome  with  emotion.  "  You  is 
both  too  good.  Doin'  what  I  is  done  did  ain't 
nothin'  tall  fo'  such  fine  fellers  like  what  you-all  is." 

"'Hmph !  "  grunted  the  pessimistic  Elijah.  "  Jes' 
wait  ontil  you  is  been  married  a  yeah !  " 

Meanwhile,  in  the  sanctity  of  her  room,  the  bride 
had  divested  herself  of  veil  and  bridal  gown.  She 
stood  proudly  before  the  dresser  mirror  in  all  the 
pristine  glory  of  white  satin  ribbon  and  fluffy  lin- 
gerie. There  came  a  light  tap  on  the  door  and  it 
cracked  open  tentatively.  "  C'n  I  come  in?  " 

Corena  looked  up  into  the  tiny,  contrite  face  of 
Mayola  Kye.  There  was  no  resisting  a  penitent 
Mayola.  "  Shuah,  Miss  Kye  —  you  is  mos'  wel- 
come." 

Mayola  entered  the  room  and  stood  uncertainly 
before  the  other  woman.  "I  is  done  you  dirt, 
Corena,"  she  blurted,  "  an'  I  is  sorry." 

Corena  impulsively  kissed  her.  "  Tha's  all 
right,  Mayola;  tha's  jes'  all  right.  You  —  you  — " 


PAINLESS  EXTRACTION  309 

she  cast  about  for  some  symbol  of  forgiveness: 
"  You  c'n  he'p  lace  up  my  travellin'  boots !  " 

From  her  post  of  honour  at  the  feet  of  the  bride, 
Mayola  glanced  up.  "  It  took  me  all  of  a  heap, 
Corena." 

"Which?" 

"  Yo'  weddin' —  comin'  sudden  like  it  done." 

The  bride  shook  her  head.  "  They  wa'n't  nothin' 
sudden  'bout  our  weddin'." 

"  But  —  but  you  ain't  hahdly  knowed  March 
Clisby  real  well  fo'  more'n  th'ee  or  fo'  weeks." 

Corena's  lips  expanded  into  a  broad  grin.  The 
grin  became  a  chuckle  and  the  chuckle  a  full-blown, 
throaty  laugh.  "  Sho'  now,  Mayola  —  you  is  plumb 
wrong  there.  Why,  me  an'  March  Clisby  is  been 
engage'  sencst  even  befo'  I  went  to  work  fo'  the 
doctors.  Co'se  'twas  a  secret  'gagement,  but  we 
was  on'y  waitin'  ontil  our  feenancial  affairs 
looked  brighter."  She  paused  briefly  — then 
smiled  again :  "  An'  believe  me,  Mayola  —  things 
is  shuah  been  comin'  March's  way  right  recent !  " 


THE  END 


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